The Orc
by Gol Heim
Summary: An Orc is driven to Skyrim on a quest of revenge, as he pursues the one who destroyed his home. Will he achieve his vengeance, or does fate have something else in store.
1. Finally awake

**Chapter One:** **Finally Awake**

_Fire crackling_

_Wood shattering_

_A child's scream_

_Drowned out by a roar_

_Yol Toor Shul!_

The Orc's head was pounding like he had had one too many bottles of mead. An ass kicking never felt good when you awoke. He tried to rub his temples, but realized with a start that he had trouble moving his arms. The Orc's eyes snapped open and he lifted his wrists to his face. Sure enough he was handcuffed, with heavy iron restraints, "Shit" he muttered.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake."

The Orc dropped his wrists in his lap with a clank and looked in front of himself. A man with blonde hair and pale skin, Nord by the look of him, was sitting across from the Orc in what looked to be a wooden cart, bumping along a stone road.

"You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

To the right end of the cart there was a sullen looking Nord with red hair.

"Damn you Stormcloaks." he spat "Skyrim was fine until you came along, empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you I could've-"

The Orc had been bored of the conversation almost as soon as it started and had stopped listening. He looked around and saw an imperial soldier in light armor driving the cart and another one trailing the cart on a horse to cut down any prisoner that tried to run. As he fiddled with the cold lock on his restraints he noticed that there were no iron restraints on the other prisoners, but only weak rope. The Orc chuckled, his captors weren't as stupid as they seemed. String restraints couldn't hold an Orc chief.

As the cart hit a bump on the stony road, the Orc looked to the left and saw that the cart was quickly nearing a town with walls of timber and stone. He looked back at the still conversing Nords. "Ahem." he uttered.

"No! This can't be happening! This isn't happening!" the redhead cried.

"Hey!" The Orc barked.

"Hmm?" said the blonde Nord.

"Where am I? And where are we going?"

The Nord looked at the Orc strangely, "Why you're in Skyrim of course, look around."

The Orc saw a bright morning sun shining into his eyes and making him blink; he felt a cold winter wind that made him shiver. Wait a minute… shiver? The Orc looked down at his chest, "Fuck!" His armor was missing. Those damned imperial thieves had taken his priceless Orcish armor and had left him with stained rags that smelled of alcohol and skeever piss.

The Orc groaned, "What a nice introduction to this frozen shit hole. Now, where in Oblivion are we going!"

The Blonde Nord glanced towards the oncoming town with a look of defeat, "I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits."

The Orc's brow furrowed, "Sovereign Guard?"

The thief Nord stared at the cart floor in shock, "Where true Nords go after they die."

"Son of a…" the Orc stammered in confusion, "I didn't do anything! These imperial assholes clubbed me from behind while I was minding my own business!"

"Shut up back there!" The soldier driving the cart called back.

Preparing to strangle the soldier with his shackles, the Orc suddenly paused. Wherever this cart was going would lead to whoever planned the ambush, and his assault. The Orc sat back on his bench and waited silently as the cart entered the city's walls.

Once they were inside the city's walls, the cart driver called out to a man on a horse wearing golden imperial armor, "General Tullius sir! The headsman is waiting!"

"Good, let's get this over with." the golden man replied.

"Look at him!" the blonde Nord sneered, "General Tullius, the military governor, and it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."

"Tullius huh?" the Orc mused at the grey haired imperial, "Looks kinda worn out to be a General."

The blonde Nord chuckled, "Say friend, I never caught your name."

The Orc gazed at him sullenly, "I never tossed it."

At the center of town the cart jerked to a stop.

"Why are we stopping?" the thief whimpered.

"Why do you think?" said the blonde Nord, "end of the line."

As the prisoners got out of the cart and formed neat little lines to be executed, the Orc looked about for someone to get him out of this mess. There was a female imperial captain in front of the line giving orders, and a large Nord man standing next to her writing in a book. The Orc had to get out of here. He wasn't afraid to die, but he needed to finish what had been started.

Suddenly the thief Nord that had been in the Orc's cart cried out, as his name was called, "No We aren't rebels! You can't do this" In a flash, he sprinted past the guards in front of the line.

The Imperial captain did not make any moves to stop him, "Halt!" she called out to him.

The running thief called back madly, "You aren't gonna catch me!"

The Orc scowled in disgust, the thief was pathetic. He needed to pay for his crimes in blood, and instead he ran, disgracing himself.

"Archers!" The captain yelled.

The thief died before he hit the ground and landed at an awkward angle, so that his leg stuck out to one side.

"Anyone else feel like running?"

When the line thinned out the Nord guard with the book called to him, "You there."

The Orc took a step forward.

"Who are you?"

The Orc thought. Who was he really? He had a large build, even for an Orc, with dark green skin and bones protruding from his brow and the sides of his forehead. His forehead was broad and low, which gave a constant look of scrutiny or even irritation on his face. He had two large tusks at the bottom of his jaw protruding upwards, almost touching the sides of his nose. His night black hair was long and neat in a ponytail, but he kept himself clean-shaven with a steel knife he had taken from a bandit that he had killed when he was eight.

He was an Orsimer whose home had been a powerful stronghold in the Wrothgarian Mountains. His home had a mine, trained trolls, and steel catapults. But that wasn't really what home was. Home was his family and his tribe. He had no home anymore.

"I am the Orc-gro Gol Heim." The Orc muttered.

The Nord guard glanced downward at his book, and then back at the Orc, "You from one of the strongholds, Orc? How did you end up here?"

The Orc gave him a blank stare, "I need to talk to general Tullius. I am not a Stormcloak."

The guard paused, thinking, and turned to the Imperial captain to his right, "Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list."

"Forget the list," the captain said, her gaze never leaving the Orc, "he goes to the block."

The Nord guard appeared troubled, but quickly shrugged, "By your orders captain." He turned to the Orc, "I'm sorry Orc. We'll make sure your remains are returned to Orsinium."

The Orc gave the Nord a smile, "I'm sorry too." He quickly leapt at the guard and connected a flying kick to his jaw.

The Imperial captain's sword was out instantly, as she tried to strike the Orc with a downward slash. The Orc raised his wrists, braced for impact, and caught the sword with the shackles that bound him. The sword sheared right through the iron restraints. The shock of the blow vibrated through the captain's arm. She dropped her sword, and grasped her hand in pain.

By then, the entire inhabitance of the courtyard had taken notice of the single resisting prisoner, and had begun to take action. Prisoners waiting to be executed cheered and shouted, but made no moves to help the Orc. Guards dropped their lists and grabbed their weapons.

The Orc, realizing that he would soon end up like the thief if he did not act immediately, grabbed for the still shocked Imperial and put her in a chokehold in front of him like a shield.

Suddenly ten guards had appeared in front of the Orc, bows drawn and ready, as he backed towards a building wall.

"Fire! Shoot him!" The Imperial captain choked.

The closest guard obeyed and released his hold on the bowstring. His arrow planted itself into the captain's shoulder.

She cried out in pain, "Never mind! Don't shoot!"

Some of the confused guards lowered their bows, while other kept their weapons aimed. For a moment there was silence. Nobody moved a muscle.

Then the sound of armor clinking, and boots scraping against dirt could be heard as General Tullius strode towards the Orc.

"Let her go." The general said nonchalantly, "Now."

"No." the Orc spat, "Not until I get a fair trial."

Just then, a faraway noise echoed from the mountaintops.

"Let the poor girl down and we'll talk."

"Not with your personal infantry pointing arrows at my face."

The noise sounded again, closer this time. Some guards even broke focus to glance at the sky.

The Orc glanced up too. Something about that noise was familiar, something daunting, but adrenaline was pumping through his veins and he couldn't focus.

The general sighed. He sounded more irritated at the inconvenience than infuriated by the capture of his captain, "Let the captain go now, or I will order these men to fire."

The Imperial captain moaned and struggled to get out of the Orc's grip.

"I can't do that Tullius." the Orc shook his head lightly, "Your men will shoot me anyways."

Tullius pursed his lips, "I don't have time to wait for you to gain some reason Orc. I have more important things to do today, like end a war." The general raised his hand, "Let go of the captain now, or you will be shot."

The Orc sighed. Perhaps it was better this way, to rejoin his family and friends in the Ashpit, to dine and fight eternally with his father Malacath, to see his little girls and sons again. Everything the flying shadow had taken away from him was there. Everything he cared about, he would see again in death. The Orc took a breath, and readied himself. Better to go out fighting than to die on his hands and knees.

Suddenly a deafening roar came from just over the mountainside. A black winged shape arose from behind the mountaintop and glided towards the town.

Some of the guards turned and pointed, screaming.

The Orc himself stood in shock, almost losing his grip on the Imperial captive. This was the creature that had taken his family and home from him. This was the monster that he had sworn on his honor as an Orc to destroy. This was the flying shadow, the shouting death. The dragon.

As the black dragon Alduin landed heavily onto a tower, he took a breath and shouted.

_Yol Tor Shul!_


	2. Escape!

**Chapter Two****: Escape**

_**Fus Ro Dah!**_

The dragon Alduin let loose the shout in the form of a wall of blue shimmering energy.

In his shock the Orc was almost entranced by the quickly unfolding scene, until that same blue wall blew him off his feet and smacked his body against the wall behind him. This was really happening. The black dragon had returned to finish what it had started. The Orc shook his head and bolted upright. His ears were ringing, but he would not let himself be bested by a couple of words. The imperial captain he had been holding captive, as well as most of the imperial infantry that had been in front of him, had been blown in various directions by the shout.

"Hey! Over here!"

The Orc's eyes darted back and forth, searching for the source of the call. He spotted the Nord that he had ridden with waving him over towards a tower door. Ralof, that was his name. The Orc had heard it called when he was in line.

"Come on! The gods won't give us another chance!"

The Orc took a step towards the Ralof, and his legs shook threatening to make him fall.

"Shit." He muttered. He had gotten plenty of concussions before, any orc with a childhood had taken a good blow to the head. However never had he gotten a concussion while surrounded by enemies and being pursued by a dragon. The Orc groaned and forced himself to march towards the door.

As the Orc tripped through to doorway and it slammed shut behind him. His foggy vision had started to clear. He shook his head again and rose to his feet. Ralof was there, talking to an older Nord dressed in an expensive looking fur cloak.

"Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends really be true?" Ralof stammered.

"Legends don't burn down villages." The Nord man stated in a deep voice.

The Orc gawked at the Nord. He had heard stories of an Ulfric Stormcloak. Stories that told of a man ten feet tall that could obliterate his enemies with a whisper. Supposedly he was leading a rebellion in this country. Everything about the man implied that he was of royal blood. His voice, the way he dressed, his swagger as he paced the room. Yet unlike most Nobles this man seemed strong and inspiring like that of a warrior.

Just then Alduin roared shook the tower.

"We need to move. Now!" Ulfric commanded.

Ralof's eyes darted about the room, "Up through the tower, lets go!"

Without hesitation the Orc darted up the steps. There was another Stormcloak standing halfway up the stairs, ushering the Orc towards him. "Hurry! We just need to-" _Blam_! The section of the wall next to the Stormcloak imploded, tons of stone crushing him, as Alduin's head popped inside the tower. As the Orc fell back down the steps he thought he heard a deep chant coming from the dragon. However the thought disappeared as a high pitched squeal and a spray of fire spewed from the dragon's mouth.

The Orc raced back up the smoldering stairs and leaned out the newly made hole in the wall. The dragon had darted away the second his flaming breath had stopped, and was once again circling the town.

"Coward!" the Orc cried out. "Come and face me!"

Ralof pulled him back inside. "Are you mad!?" He gasped breathlessly.

"I will find my family one way or another." the Orc growled. "Every step I take on Nirn while they are unavenged is a dishonor to them."

"You have thrice damned shackles on your wrists for Talos' sake!"

"I have no fear of death. Any pain I cause that milk drinking, oversized bat before I am killed will be well worth my death."

The Ralof shook his head, "Just think it over. If you think you can hurt that thing in rags with your bare hands, then why don't you survive for now, and find it again with some armor and a sword."

The Orc groaned, the adrenaline in his system was making it hard to reason, but even he had to admit the Nord had a point. Dying in rags with chained arms was brave but pointless. Facing the one who destroyed his life in armed combat would truly be a deed worthy of Malacath's favor. The Orc nodded.

"Good." He seemed relieved. "Now, see the Inn on the other side?" He pointed to a half destroyed building in flames below the tower. "Jump through the roof and keep going! We'll follow when we can!"

"Didn't you just tell me not to kill myself?"

"Try to ease your fall by landing on that conveniently placed bed."

The Orc peered down at the building. Sure enough, a cleanly made bedspread with animal pelt blankets sat undisturbed on the the Inn floor.

He shook his head and with a roar, launched himself off the tower, feet first, towards the bed.

"If I land on the edge of the bed," the Orc thought as he soared towards the Inn, "I can roll off onto my shoulder on the floor and break the fall." One second later the Orc landed squarely on the bed, which crashed through the second floor of the Inn and exploded in a shower of dust and splinters on the first floor.

The Orc groaned, "This day is fucked up."

A voice from outside the flaming inn called out, "Haming, you need to get over here now!"

The Orc grabbed a chair and hoisted himself onto his feet. "Ugh!" his ankle was sprained from the fall. He gritted his teeth, limped towards a hole in the wall and peeked outside.

In front of the inn, out in the open, a Nord boy wandered aimlessly as the dragon Alduin swooped towards him. The Nord Imperial guard who had asked the Orc his name was attempting to usher the boy to cover.

The Orc's eyes widened and he burst through the inn wall.

The Nord guard nearly tripped in shock and gripped his sword. The Orc was already on him. He lunged at the guard and pushed him away from the boy and into the path of the oncoming dragon.

_**Yol Tor Shul!**_

The guard was reduced to a smoking crisp instantly.

"Hadvar!" the boy screeched as the Orc grabbed him and dove to safety.

The Orc stood over the boy, "Stay here." he growled. His head spun around, the dragon was already gone.

The boy cried and beat his tiny fists against the Orc's leg, "I hate you! You killed him! I hate you!"

The Orc turned and looked down at the boy, "What's your name boy?"

The child looked at the ground darkly, "Haming."

"Was the man I pushed your father? Your brother?"

"My cousin." His voice breaking.

"Well when you grow up, if you're still mad about it, you can come find me."

Haming looked up at the Orc with a determined look, tears running down his face. "I will." He promised.

A echoing roar boomed from the sky.

The Orc nodded, "Good." then took off towards the center of the town. It was rash to kill the soldier, even if he had condemned the Orc to death. Where would the boy go? Where would he sleep? The Orc stopped running. The smell of ash and burning flesh, the thought of the child alone, and that god damned dragon flying around screeching. It was too much. The Orc stumbled and propped himself against a stone archway that hadn't been destroyed yet. By Trinimac his ankle throbbed. The Orc was going to lose his shit if he didn't get it together. He took a deep breath and looked around. Burning mounds of flesh that used to be imperial soldiers littered the ground while others stood and fired both arrows and magica blasts into the air. The Orc scoffed, when the dragon attacked his stronghold they had used giant slingshots firing small boulders to try and stop it. These weak imperial grade weapons wouldn't stop shit.

In the panic the Orc spotted a blue cloak heading to an upright tower in the corner of his vision. He looked over, "Ralof!"

The Nord was now wielding an iron battleaxe and rushing to the tower door. He called over to the Orc without stopping, "Quickly! Into the tower!"

The Orc limped off in a flash, just in time to avoid the archway crashing down in flames.

_**Yol Tor Shul!**_

The door fell in pieces as the Orc leapt out of the courtyard and into the tower after Ralof. He cursed as he picked himself off the ground and looked around. The room was bare, aside from the occasional broom and small sack propped against the wall. It had two gates on each side of the room, one of wood and one of metal. Ralof was kneeling by a table next to a fallen stormcloak. The Orc picked himself off the ground and stumbled over to him.

"We'll meet again in Sovngarde brother." He stood and turned to the Orc, "Looks like we're the only ones who made it."

"You don't say." the Orc rolled his eyes.

"That thing was a dragon. No doubt. Just like the children's stories and legends. The harb-

"Yeah yeah whatever." the Orc cut him off and walked towards the metal door and pulled on it. Locked up tight, "What do we do now?"

The Nord shrugged, "Well we had better get moving."

"Yeah no shit." The Orc spat, "I meant, how do we get out of this room."

"You might as well take Gunjar's gear. He won't be needing it anymore."

The Orc gazed over at the corpse. The dead nord was in low quality fur armor and had an old iron axe tightly gripped in his pale hands. He groaned, "Better than nothing I guess."

A moment later they both heard the clinking of footsteps clad in heavy armor coming from behind the wooden gate.

"It's the imperials! Take cover.

"Huh, I wonder how many." the Orc awkwardly skipped to the side of the wooden gate. The doorway led to a stone hallway lit by torches that turned left. From that corner rushed a tiny looking imperial in light armor followed by another in heavy armor and an imperial captain helmet. The Orc looked closer and saw that the heavy guard was the woman that had sentenced him to death a few minutes ago.

"Come on soldier. Keep moving! Get this gate open."

The Orc pulled the iron axe from the stormcloak's death grip as the gate slid open. "Well well isn't this a lovely surprise!" The Orc chuckled hurling the axe at the stunned imperial guard. With a crack, he went down like a sack of potatoes.

The captain was more wily that her counterpart. She had already unsheathed her sword and was running at the Orc with it over her head.

The Orc outstretched his arms, "Come to daddy!"

Just as the sword came down, the Orc spun left and swiped the sword away with his still shackled wrist, then spun his momentum the other way bringing his left palm into the side of the woman's head. Her feet left the ground as her skull smashed into the stone doorframe. The sound of denting metal and bones cracking echoed about the room. As quickly as the skirmish had started, it had ended with a dead silence.

Ralof still stood crouched by the doorway in shock, mouth agape, "Ever considered joining the stormcloaks?" He suggested weakly.

The Orc scoffed as he searched the woman's corpse for a key, "Hadn't given it much thought friend. Here we go." A tiny brass key was hiding in the woman's boot. The Orc quickly fitted it into the key slot in his shackles, they popped open. He tossed the key to the Nord, "See if it opens that metal gate."

Ralof shook his head and trotted over to the gate as the Orc unstrapped the weapons from the imperial's corpses. The iron battle axe made a squelch as it was pulled from the guard's face.

The Orc peered down the hallway in which the imperials came, "Hey, I think there might be a room down there. I'm gonna check if there's anything worth taking."

"Don't bother." he pushed open the gate, "We need to get out of here now!" Ralof seemed panicked.

The Orc looked at Ralof, eyes narrowed, "Then go."

"Fine then. But hurry!"

The Orc strolled into the hall and ripped a metal handle torch off the wall. He looked around as he entered the next room. Beds, weapon, and a few set tables, "Guard barracks."

"Alright is your curiosity sated? Can we get out of here now!" Ralof urged.

The Orc spied a large locked closet for storing armor, "Not quite yet." And opened it. Inside was the full set of his Orcish armor and the Orcish warhammer he had taken from his father's corpse. The Orc chuckled and ripped off the rags he wore, "Hey, make yourself useful and help me strap in.

The Orc felt good. He clenched his fists a couple of times to feel the grip of his gauntlets, cracked his knuckles and neck, and swung his warhammer in a figure eight motion before clicking it into place on his back. Grinning, his eyes narrowed. That dragon was a good as dead.

The poor nord was sweating, "I have to go now! Come with me if you want."

The Orc waved his hand, "Calm your tits man, nothing can stop us now."

Ralof groaned, "Lets just get out of this gods damned place for Talos' sake."

The two of them ran out of the barracks and back into the entry room. The metal door was already swung open. The chainmail and rings on the Orc's armor clinked as he ran past the gate and down the stone stairway past it. The stairway ended into another, much larger hallway. The Orc could see two figures coming towards him from the other side of the hall, but just as he registered the sight most of the roof above the hall came down, sealing it completely. "Shit." the Orc spat.

"C'mon, there's a door leading downstairs."

The Orc looked to the left and saw Ralof opening a wooden door leading to yet another set of stairs. "Malacath almighty, how deep does this place go?"

The Nord trotted through the doors, "It's in a Nord's nature to build underground as well as above, always has been. There are hundreds of ancient Nordic tombs all over Skyrim. In fact they- " Ralof was cut off by what sounded like the crackle of electricity coming from the bottom of the steps.

The Orc unsheathed his warhammer and rushed downstairs. Before he reached the bottom he heard a cry following a crack. An old imperial man in a mage's hood and light imperial armor had been knocked on his ass, his leg bent at an awkward angle, with a woman standing over him. The woman donned a dark turquoise master robe and hood, and wielded an iron shield and mace. She glowed green from a stoneflesh spell.

"I'm sorry! I'll leave the legion, I'll pay you in gold!" The old man was blubbering, barely comprehensible, "Please! Please don't kill me!"

The Orc stoped at the end of the steps. The room was filled with cages, torture devices, and the bodies of dead imperial guards.

The woman's eyes narrowed beneath her hood, "May Stendarr have mercy on you, for the vigilant has none to spare.

The man flailed and let out a cry as the woman's arm swung in a lightning fast arc. The iron mace connected with with the old Imperial's face. A loud crunch followed by a splatter of skull and brain on the floor echoed around the room.


	3. To Gerdur's house We go

**Chapter Three: New allies**

The Orc lowered his hammer and looked around the room. Iron cages adorned the cavern. They hung from the ceiling and were placed side by side against the walls. "A torture chamber."

The woman yanked her mace from the now bloody body, whipped around, and leveled it at the Orc and Ralof, "Who are you and what do you want?"

Ralof glanced sideways at the Orc, "We're just trying to get out of here."

The woman's brow furrowed in suspicion as she glanced at the two, "Well you're certainly not imperials…"

The standstill lasted for a minute or two until the Orc cleared his throat awkwardly, "Judging by the clothes you're wearing and that amulet around your neck, I'd guess that you're a vigilant of Stendarr."

The woman lowered her mace and lightly touched the necklace she wore. The pendant was made of silver and bronze in the image of a horn turned downwards and held together by a tiny round link chain. The iron mace she held looked low quality and quite used due to the fact it was covered in fresh blood. The iron shield she gripped in the other hand was both equally low in quality and covered in blood.

As the Orc observed the woman, it struck him that as well as being quite nicely shaped, the woman was also quite short and had a rounded, neat hairdo that was black as night just like his. "What are you doing in an imperial dungeon breton?"

The woman observed the mace and shield distastefully before throwing them both away. She looked back at the two men and grinned, "I could ask the same question to an orc and a stormcloak." She turned and strolled towards a weapon rack in the back corner of the room. Beside the rack was a chest in which the woman rooted in for a minute before pulling out a glass mace and shield, a few scrolls, and some dried foodstuffs. "If you must know, I was on my way to Skyrim's branch of the Vigil of Stendarr." The Breton pulled back her hood and exhaled heavily. She walked slowly towards one of the cages against the wall and peered inside. "I was also traveling with a disciple from the Cyrodilic branch, but he did not survive the torture before I could free myself." The crumpled body of a young boy laid inside the cell without shoes. He was dressed in apprentice robes and in his hands gripped a basic spell book, probably for comfort.

The Orc sighed and slowly started towards a hall at the end of the room, "Better get moving then."

The woman nodded and followed the Orc, "So what's your story orc? You got a name?"

"Not anymore. Look can we just focus on getting out of here?"

The woman smiled mischievously, "Alright then 'Orc' it is. My name is Vigilant Athena Copperheart of High Rock. Nice to meet you." She extended her hand and looked expectantly at the Orc.

The Orc paused and peered at the outstretched hand, "What?"

The Breton grinned, "You're supposed to shake it, it's a semi-formal greeting."

The Orcs mouth twisted, when orcs greeted each other they just pounded fists or butt heads. A formal greeting was just a lowering of the head, "I'm not one for formalities." Responded the Orc. As he turned towards the hall he stumbled and almost fell as his ankle rolled painfully. "Divines fucking damn it." the Orc sputtered as he went to one knee, "You got a healing potion on ya?"

Athena shook her head and sat beside him, "No, but hold on."

The girl snapped her fingers and with a golden glow, a warm feeling spread through the Orc's body. Not only did his ankle feel better, but he felt rejuvenated and energized. "Huh. You're good with your hands."

Athena rolled her eyes but grinned.

Just then Ralof, newly loaded with weapons from the deceased soldiers, walked past them, "Should I… give you two a moment?"

The Orc glared, "Watch it Nord."

Ralof shrugged and pulled a steel knife from his belt. The knife had been sharpened so often and so long that it was as thin and sharp as a razor, "Is this yours?" He asked, "You were going on earlier about losing an old knife or something."

The Orc's brow furrowed and then rose, "By the eight, that is mine!" He had hollowed a small space in his boot years ago just for the blade. It made no noise as he sheathed it back into place.

"Now then, are you boys ready to go?" Athena taunted.

The Orc grinned, he was beginning to like this girl. Vigilants of Stendarr were notoriously overly dedicated, close minded, and just plain no fun. But this girl was different. She seemed graceful and charming, but anytime she had a flirty response to something, the Orc's mind would flash back to the image of her face as she killed that imperial guard. "Maybe its all an act." The Orc thought, "Maybe there's more to this girl than meets the eye."

On that note Athena giggled and kicked the Orc lightly on the ass before she skipped down the hallway. Ralof nudged the Orc and raised a brow before following her.

The torture room hallway was relatively short and led to an underground river. Just as the river reached a dead end, a path opened up to the right. Ralof went ahead to 'scout out any trouble' as Athena and the Orc followed.

The Orc couldn't stop looking at the girl. Despite her seemingly innocent personality, her right arm never strayed far from her mace's hilt. The way she walked wasn't carefree or flouncy, but stable and powerful, as if she thought about every step , she took before she took it. The Orc also could've sworn that he had seen something peculiar about her face, but she had put her hood back up and he could not see.

Suddenly a yelp echoed from the tunnel further down. Ralof! The Orc and Athena rushed down the path until it opened up into a large space filled with giant spider webs and giant spiders to match. Ralof was sprinting back towards the Orc, "Help me out!"

The Orc roughly shoved him away and pulled the warhammer from his back in one motion. He jumped, feet first, towards the nearest spider and crushed it. The vigilant had unsheathed her mace and squished another two. In a matter of seconds all the spiders in the room were dead.

"They came down at me from the ceiling!" Ralof's voice cracked like a teen's.

Rolling his eyes, the Orc wiped spider innards from his hammer, "Lets get you out of here friend."

The tunnel only stretched for a little while longer. The trio spotted a cave bear near the end of path, but Athena killed it with a firebolt spell. She lightly touched her forehead, "May Stendarr have mercy."

Blinding mid-day light shone from the exit of the cave. Ralof sprinted for the cave's end. "My sister Gerdur runs the mill in Riverwood, just up the road. I'm sure she'd help you two out."

The Orc nodded as he jogged, "Grand plan, I'll follow you."

The second they were all out of the cave, a dragon shaped shadow covered them completely, Ralof dove behind a rock as Alduin flew over them. One last echoing call sounded from the dragon as he flew north and disappeared over a snowy peak.

The Nord waited for a moment and then stood, "There he goes, looks like he's gone for good this time. No way to know if anyone else made it out alive. But this place is going to be swarming with Imperials soon enough. We'd better clear out of here."

The Orc stood immovable, his eyes glued to the spot on the horizon where his revenge flew off. After a few seconds he shrugged, "Welp, can't be too hard to hide a dragon. Nothing to do now but find it."

Ralof turned to the Orc and Athena, "It's probably best if we split up. Good luck. I wouldn't have made it out without your help today." The nord turned to go, but was yanked back by Athena.

"Wait wait, we're all going to the same place. Why would we split up?"

"Uh, come to think of it you're right. I'll lead the way."

After a few twists and turns on the downhill path (and a boring monologue about bleak falls barrow), it finally leveled out at three ominous looking stones all about seven feet tall with carvings in them and holes drilled in the top.

"These are the guardian stones. Three of the thirteen ancient-"

"Yes I know what they are, I did not live under a rock all my life."

While the nord looked hurt because of his interrupted speech, Athena cocked her head and appeared curious.

"Well if you know what they do, aren't you going to pick one?"

The Orc sighed, "I chose the warrior stone long ago and I still accept its blessing."

Ralof looked less hurt and continued walking down the path, "C'mon you two. We're nearly there!"

The Orc stood in front of the guardian stone. It hadn't changed since he had first seen it all those years ago. Something began to swell in his chest as he pressed his palm against the cold stone. He missed his family. His little girls and his strong young boys, all dead. Then a cool hand lightly gripped his shoulder. The Orc turned to see Athena. Her face did portray any silliness or joking, but serious concern and an understanding compassion.

"Hey, are you okay?"

The Orc forced his feelings down and turned to her with a forced grin, "Just tired. Let me buy you a drink once we get into town." He started after the nord, but the vigilant stood in his way.

The girl seemed so small compared to him. She couldn't have been over five foot two, "You know we can talk about it later if you want."

The Orc's temper kicked in and he strode past her roughly, "There's nothing to talk about. Why don't you just fuck off."

After awhile down the road, the path let through a large arch into Riverwood. The little town was lonely, with few buildings and no guards, always accompanied by the sound of the rushing river that ran along the northern border of the town. The sun set up the river and gave the local mill an orange tinge. When the trio passed the mill and met Gerdur, she offered any help she could afford and promised a place to stay for as long as they needed. While Athena thanked the woman profusely and accepted her offer, the Orc took off his helm and wiped his brow. Gerdur looked at the orsimer in disgust, "Well now come to think of it, I'm not sure we have enough room for everyone to stay in my home.

While the breton's mouth fell in shock, the Orc merely shrugged, "Loan me enough gold to stay out of your hair for a few days." Gerdur tossed him a large sack of septims and off the inn he went.

Ralof coughed, "Now that thats done with, shall we go inside and have a drink or two?" He roped his arm around Athena's and ushered her towards Gerdur's house, "You know its a funny thing, I was actually sweet on a girl in Helgen once who used to make her mead with juniper berries.-"

The vigilant sighed and looked towards the inn. She had a knack for pretending to look interested and excited about what others were talking about, but listening to the nord dribble on was going to be tough even for her.

After a few hours in the Sleeping Giant Inn (as well as quite a few rounds of mead), the rudeness of the Nords was forgotten. The Orc spent most of his coin immediately, buying everyone a few bottles of drink and after awhile most of the town's inhabitants had joined in on the newfound merriment. Even Faendal and Sven seemed to have forgotten their hatred of each other after a few bottles of mead each. The clapping and dancing rose throughout the bar as Camilla Valerius danced on the bar stand while Sven attempted to play his lute and sing 'Ragnar the Red.'

The Orc himself had taken off his armor and put it in his room. He now donned a pair of newly stained pants and a shirt. Being as big as he was, it was difficult for the Orc to get himself drunk. Therefore, he had ordered two bottles of the most potent drink that bartender had offered, aged Argonian bloodwine. He had offered Sven a mug, but after a sip the nord handed him back the tankard and stumbled away almost falling. The Orc chuckled, tossed the mug into the fire and drank from the glass, "Pussy."

Once the Orc had finished most of the bloodwine and given the rest away to Embry, whose thirst seemed to be even greater than his own, Athena entered the bar.

"Oy!" The Orc raised his tankard and patted the spot next to him on the tabletop, "Come ave a seat!"

The girl made her way carefully through the crowd of stumbling townsfolk and sat next to the Orc on the table.

"Now, has the lil breton girl decided to pity poor old me for not gettin let into that shitty house of ers?" The Orc pouted and then grinned, tossing the tankard over his shoulder.

Athena pulled her hood back and shook her head, "I wanted to make sure that you were okay, and see if you were ready to talk."

The Orc's mood immediately turned sour, "Oh for fuk's sake."

The two of them sat there for awhile. After a good ten minutes the townsfolk began to realize that the Orc wasn't going to buy them any more alcohol and those that still could, stumbled home. The Orc belched and scratched his chin, he would shave tomorrow. If he tried now, he would probably end up cutting his throat, "Well I'm going to bed." On that note the Orc took one step off the table, slipped, and landed flat on his face.

The Vigilant rolled her eyes, hopped down from the table, and hoisted him up, "Let me help you."

The Orc shook her off, "I don't need any elp getting to me own room." He stood shakily and almost fell.

The girl threw an arm around his waist and roped his arm around her neck, "Yes you do. This will only take a minute. Don't be such a baby."

The Orc grunted but said nothing. They stumbled into the room and he landed heavily on the bed. He kicked both boots off and attempted to take off his shirt, only managing to get tangled in the process.

The Vigilant suppressed a laugh and sat on the bed next to him, "Here let me help." When she took the shirt off she gasped and put a hand to her mouth. Most of the Orc's enormous body was covered in horrible burn scars. "Stendarr's mercy. Does that hurt?"

The Orc looked down at himself, seemingly discovering the burns for the first time, "Oh yeah. Got those from that damned fucking lizard. I had ta take three resist fire potions to stop the burning, and two o my most powerful healing potions to keep the flesh from dyin an fallin off."

The girl looked curious more than anything, "Where were you when this happened?"

He looked lost in thought as he undid his belt, his eyes were far away and roamed back and forth. He smiled, "Home." His eyes suddenly opened wide, "Quick! Go into my armor. There's a pouch behind my inner left breastplate, give me what you find!"

Athena opened the cabinet and rifled through the armor. On the inside of his chest armor, where he had said, Athena felt something soft and pulled it out for the Orc. She turned to give it to him, but he was passed out cold. She held up the object to the light. It looked like a stuffed doll of some kind. The girl looked back at the Orc in confusion, there was no way that this was the thing he was so frantic about. What was even significant about the doll anyways? She looked closer, the doll wasn't like any she had ever seen before. It was made of green fabric and had painted red eyes. Little pebbles adorned its forehead and brow while some wolf hairs were sewn to its crotch like a loincloth. Pine needles were stuck in its mouth to look like tusks. "The vigilant looked back and forth from doll to Orc. "The doll was made to look like him!" She realized, "But why would this Orc want to keep a creepy voodoo doll of himself." Athena observed the doll closer, there was something tiny scribbled on the doll's back.

Daddy.


	4. A drunken tip

**Chapter Four****:** A drunken tip

Light shone through the slits in the hay roof. Dust swirled in the air as Orgnar, the barkeep lazily swept up the remaining filth from the drunken, extemporaneous festivity. When he tipped an empty mead bottle off a table and it shattered on the floor, the Orc awoke with a jump. He stood until the pounding drums of agony that played in his head made him fall back on his bed. The Orc groaned and covered his eyes. The light was made of blinding needles, his throat was dry and scratchy, and it hurt to think. He felt something poking under his back and rolled over onto his stomach. The Orc fumbled around next to him until he grasped what had been under him and brought it to his face. After a minute, his eyes decided to open and after another minute he realized it was his daughter's doll. The Orc stared for one more minute before he carefully placed it on his pillow. He then changed out of his soiled clothes and into a plain miner's shirt and pants he found in the room closet. Before he left, he gently picked up the doll and tucked it back in the hidden pocket of his armor.

The Orc rubbed his temples as he trudged out of his room. Orgnar rested the broom on a table and tossed him an orange, "That'll take the edge off. Thanks for the business."

The Orc snached it out of the air and stumbled out the door.

The outside deck was short and creaky. Embry sat on a bench by the door and gazed at the Orc blankly, "Got any more of that good stuff?"

The Orc scoffed as he bit into his orange, "Fuck off drunk."

Embry grumbled something nasty to himself and stumbled off. The Orc took a whiff of his own clothes and decided that he needed a good wash. After one last bite into his orange, he tossed the rest of it into a bush and headed down to the river. As he marched past the blacksmith's home, heard a spell being cast. The noise was slight, just a faint tinkling followed by the sound of water steaming. He rounded the blacksmith's house to find a quite naked Athena casting a heating spell on the river water in which she was bathing. She turned and raised a brow at the Orc, "Want to come in?"

The Orc stood and blinked for a moment and then immediately tore his clothes off and lowered himself into the river. The water was warm and steaming which caused horrible pain on the Orc's burns. He grimaced and stood back up out of the stream.

Athena was wide eyed with a worried look until she rolled her eyes and smacked herself on the forehead, "Ohmygosh I'm sorry! How stupid of me." She quickly cast a cooling spell on the water and the steam died down.

The Orc stroked his burns, "No no, that was dumb of me. I was just… eager to get into the water." The Orc smiled and looked the girl over. She was extremely well shaped. Skin as pale as he'd ever seen, breasts firm and bare, and toned thighs with a pert ass. The girl also looked like she could swing something heavy with no effort at all. But what caught his attention as he eased himself back into the water, were her eyes. They were brown and bright like polished copper. That's when he finally saw the scar. Athena had two thin gashes that ran down her face from her upper right cheek to the left corner of her mouth. The scar seemed old but had obviously been painful to receive. The skin around it was warped, like whatever made the marks had been scorching and had burned her. "Fuck sweetheart, where in Oblivion did you get that scar?"

The girl traced the marks on her face like she had done it often. Her gaze drifted towards the water, but her focus seemed elsewhere. After a minute or two she gazed back at the Orc, "Do you want to hear my story Orc?"

The Orc nodded and she continued, "I was born and raised in the city of Wayrest in High Rock. My father was a Knight of the Rose and my mother was a priestess of the temple of Kynareth. We were always wealthy and had whatever we needed."

"My father was kind as well as wise. He would always tell me, 'There are so many people in this world that don't have the opportunities you were born with. Don't waste them.'

"I always took his wisdom to heart. He was a loving man and well respected by everyone. However I already knew of other people's troubles because I worked with my mother in the temple. She was always kind to anyone in need and always helped them when she could. Our house was constantly filled with guests."

"One day when I was seven years old, a man came into the temple. He was limping badly and almost fell before he could reach my mother. The man said that he was a pilgrim passing by and had been attacked by some wolves on the road coming into Wayrest. He begged us to make the pain stop and to give him some rest. My mother quickly healed the wound as best she could and bound it with cloth. She offered to let him stay with us for as long as he needed."

Athena paused for a moment, took a breath, and continued. "That night, I heard something strange coming from down the hall in my house. I clambered out of my little bed and to my parents room."

She readjusted herself and smoothed back her hair, "You see, the man was actually a necromancer sent by an enemy of the royal family."

"When I entered my parents bedroom it was completely engulfed in flames. In the center of the room, a daedra stood over the charred bodies of my parents. The monster turned and looked down at me. I wasn't afraid, I was too shocked for that. I was also too shocked to react as the daedra strode towards me and kneeled down so that he was level with my face. In a deep echoing voice he spoke to me, 'All of the family must die as the master commands! Even a child.'

"It ran its searing claws down my face and I knew I was going to die. All of the sudden the daedra stood and screeched as a blue mist enveloped it. When the mist cleared, the monster was gone."

"I remember a pair of hands picking me up and carrying me outside. I also remember seeing the necromancer dead in my hall, his head smashed in by a blow from a mace."

"It was Vigilant Ulthane, who later came to be my old master, who rescued me. He had been hunting that necromancer for months and had caught up with him just a few hours too late. As recompense for not being able to save my old life, he gave me a new one. Ulthane took me back to the High Rock Vigilants of Stendarr and took care of me. At fourteen I became the youngest active member of the vigilants in history. At seventeen my master died and his position of keeper was offered to me. I refused and instead chose to learn more at our Cyrodilic branch. The vigilants had started out there after the Oblivion crisis and had only recently branched out to other nations who would accept them. After a few years of study and teaching in Cyrodill, I left to make the journey to the Skyrim branch with a new recruit. Unfortunately we were ambushed on the way by a gang of imperial soldiers and I think you know the rest."

The Orc sat relaxed from listening to the story. Any sexual tension that might've been there before the story was long gone now and replaced by deep thought and understanding.

The girl on the other hand was visibly tense and stroked her scar. The retelling had obviously made her uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry that happened to you." the Orc said, "It's a terrible story and you must believe me when I tell you that I truly understand."

The girl nodded and rubbed her arms, "Gerdur asked me 'On the behalf of Riverwood' to run my ass down to Whiterun and tell the Jarl to send some guards here. Just in case a dragon attacks."

The Orc chuckled, "You gonna go?"

"Yeah. Whiterun is on the way to the Hall of the Vigilant anyways. I need to buy a horse." Athena stood and rubbed herself down, "So what are You planning to do, now that you're armored up and ready to go?"

"Well, it's not exactly like I can knock the dragon out of the sky with my hammer, I need to find something that will. A catapult or war machine or an army. I don't know."

Athena had dried off with a towel and was getting dressed in her robes, "I'm off to Whiterun. I'll run by Gerdur again and take whatever she'll offer for the journey. Come see me at the hall if you get the chance okay? Write me if you need any help." The girl strapped in her belt and smiled at him, "Fare thee well Orc, and nice cock by the way!" She laughed out loud and skipped away.

The Orc rolled his eyes and groaned, _crazy girl._ He undid his ponytail and smoothed back his hair as he submerged himself in the water.

Later that day he went hunting and brought in some pelts and food. To keep his mind and body busy he made a set of leather armor. Promptly after selling the armor to the Riverwood trader, the Orc spent the money on alcohol and started another drunken town event. The day after that, some guards arrived to Riverwood like it would make any difference if the dragon came back. Even so it put the Orc's mind at ease knowing that Athena made it to Whiterun and delivered her message.

After quite a bit of asking around, the Orc found his answers from Orgnar, "There have been whispers. A boy, up in Windhelm, name of Aventus Aretino. Been trying to contact…"

"No no no, I need a weapon, or a fighting force. The leader of an army perhaps?"

The barkeep scratched his small beard, "Hmm. Well there have also been whispers of someone that could get you something like that. Only known as 'The Tinker.' Don't know where he is though."

The Orc handed over a bag of septims, "How about now?"

Orgnar slid the money sack under the counter, "Come to think of it, I do remember hearing where he might be. I think he's posted somewhere near Solitude. That's about it."

The Orc slid over the rest of his money, "You sure?"

"Come to think of it I also heard he has connections in the Pirates Cove. Nonsense really, as if a place like that could exist."

"Really? That's all you'll tell me for the rest of my septims?"

Orgnar rubbed out an empty tankard with a rag and a little spit, "Sorry Orc, thats all I got for ya. Have one last drink before you go."

The one drink soon turned into ten, and soon enough the rest of the town, as well as the new guards had started yet Another drunken festivity. As it turned out, the reason Orgnar never drank was because he couldn't hold down his liquor. After a couple mugs, he was out cold on his counter. With the barkeep passed out and Delphine "running errands", Sven cracked open the hidden stash of mead and started an unending flow of drinks.

This party was the craziest of all. After many drunken songs, dances, and dares, the night came and left. Most of the town's new guards were unconscious all over the floor and the inn was covered in the thin sheen of spilled alcohol.

The Orc woke suddenly and looked about his room. The light coming from the slits in the room weren't blinding so he hadn't been that drunk. However if that were the case, then why couldn't he remember what had happened last night? He did remembered drinking quite a bit, and Faendal getting an a fistfight with Sven. After that, nothing.

The Orc heard a muffled sigh under his covers. As he tossed the blankets off of himself, he spied Camilla Valerius, naked and asleep on his chest.

"Oh fuck me." The Orc groaned. He quietly slid out from under the girl and placed the blanket back on top of her. The sheets were a bit stained. Girls always bled a little the first time unless they were used to taking something as big as him. Why in Oblivion couldn't he remember last night!?

The Orc chuckled and shook his head. Oh well. He had crazier nights before in his years as a pirate.


	5. Cove of Pirates

**Chapter Five**: Cove of Pirates

After the lost night of drinks, partying, and apparent sex with Camilla Valerius, the Orc quietly snuck out of the Sleeping Giant before Orgnar woke up. He bathed down the white river, out of the sight of Riverwood. The Orc wondered if Camilla, or anyone else would remember more of last night than he did. To put it gently, people in Skyrim tended to be a little critical of girls who fucked orcs. If he'd stayed in town, the least he might've expected was a bloody battle between Camilla's brother and himself. Worst case scenario was the whole town might've pitched in. It was just better for everyone if he took off for awhile.

Despite common belief, Pirate's cove did indeed exist. It was maintained by a constant flow of gold and a nonexistent flow of secrets. The entrances to the cove were so kept secret they were almost considered sacred. Or so it was said.

The Orc reached the Whiterun stables half an hour or so after his bath in the river. It also took him approximately that long to realize that he didn't have any money to pay for the ride to Solitude. However after a few nastily spat words and a threat to bash a certain wagon to pieces, the wagon driver kindly offered the Orc an extended discount for the ride.

It wasn't till late evening when they reached Solitude. The wagon jerked to a stop at Katla's farm. The driver was obviously exhausted but didn't dare stop once during the journey, "Oy, get up you fucker! Go on!"

The Orc snapped awake and patted himself down to check if anything was missing. He hopped off the wagon and it took off in a flash. He smiled. When words wouldn't do, having a giant hammer always did.

The Solitude docks had expanded since the Orc had been there last. Many shops dotted the street above the docks, and the dock itself had grown outward like some spiderweb still being spun. He looked at the end of the dock for the old Marie Elena, but the space was empty. The Orc did notice however a large amount of imperial schooners and spearboats littering the dock as well as quite a few more imperial guards. The towering Red Wave stood out among the smaller ships. There was something going on if such a prestigious galleon was docked in Solitude. The Orc made sure he was not seen as he edged along the road towards the Solitude lighthouse.

Just before the Orc reached the lighthouse, he stopped and paid his respects to the wreck of a ship that used to be the Dainty Sload. A few years ago, the captain of the Dainty Sload, Volf Goldheart had crashed his ship into the lighthouse's miniature bay. With the ship beached and no room to turn around, the crew began to panic. Volf instead saw an opportunity. He was hauling several catapults and war machines at the time, and instead of abandoning the ship and salvaging what he could, he fitted the catapults on the deck of his ship and on the top of the lighthouse. He turned the entire place into a deadly blockade. For the next seven months Volf was leader and lord of his tiny kingdom, and declared that the entrance to the Solitude docks pirate territory. Any ship to cross into the dock would either stop and pay a fee, or be obliterated by his catapult fire. Any imperial ships were bombed on sight. Eventually the Imperial Royal Navy sent an entire fleet to end Volf's blockade. After a large battle resulting in four sunken imperial ships, the Dainty Sload itself was obliterated.

The Orc smiled. He had known Volf well, he was a Nord man with fire in his hair and green emeralds in his eyes. Most of his teeth glimmered gold and silver. He wore rings on all his fingers and a green bandana the same color as his sails. The man had a devious chuckle and an even more devious sense of humor. Always carried a specially forged set of scimitars. But what the Orc liked most about him was that he had a sense of honor and freedom. He always believed that the pirate way of life was the only life worth living.

The Orc had visited his little stronghold during the seven months it had existed. The place had been lively and wild, as if every day was the last day on earth. As long as Volf's flag flew high, pirates ran the docks of Solitude. Tankards of mead and rum all around, dancing and singing every night, men walking proud and free. The Solitude guard had put up a bit of resistance, but they didn't have the manpower to stop Volf's crew.

When the imperial fleet came Volf knew he wouldn't make it out alive, but a good captain always goes down with his ship. So he instructed his first mate to take down his ship's flag and run it to Pirate Cove. It still hung there, preserving the legacy.

It was said that when every other man was dead and bloody, and the catapults had been smashed and burned, captain Vulf stood on top of his ship's mast and cut down every imperial that climbed up to get him. It took a volley of flaming arrows to finally make him fall.

The Orc patted the blackened hull of the ship and continued on. The cove was close and he wondered if anything had changed there as well.

Jaree-Ra was a notorious schemer and rogue, always looking for some poor sap he could "recruit" and quickly stab in the back. All he really valued in life was gold and loot. However the Jaree-Ra was a kindly soul in comparison to his sister Deeja, the woman was quick to anger and even quicker with a knife. Vicious and greedy, the two of them led the bandits in Broken Oar Grotto. At least, that's what they wanted everyone to believe.

There were two entrances into the grotto, one enormous opening for ships and a small side entrance for people. As the Orc walked up the smaller entrance, he was stopped by a few bandits and an enormous redguard man with crossed arms. The man was easily two feet taller than the Orc. He wore a pair of ripped pants, and a tribal necklace and circlet. Across his back was a bow made from mudcrab plate and seaweed.

The Orc grinned, "It's been quite awhile Howl-of-the-Wolf."

The man stayed as sentient as stone, "The code."

"I curse the stinkin crabs who will submit to be governed by laws in which rich men have made for their own security. I take freedom or I take the rope, for I shall not take the shackles that subjugate the poor to uphold the rich. I give the pain of Oblivion to any man who don't take me quarter fast as he can. I Respect the coin by which all men and mer bow down to. And by means ah moral way, one is freedom, two's the loot, and three's the mead and women to boot." The two stared back at each other until at once they threw their heads back and laughed.

"It has indeed been quite awhile Hammer." Howl-of-the-Wolf patted the Orc on the back and led him into the grotto.

The place was quiet as usual the occasional "bandit" patrolled the docks. Deeper into the grotto, Jaree-Ra was playing cards on his lookout tower. The argonian was a terrible cheat and always swindled his men, although nobody dared start a fight with him while his sister Deeja observed the game behind him. Her daedric dagger gleamed on her hip.

Jaree-Ra stood as the Orc crossed his path, "Well well, Jaree-Ra never forgets a face, and he thinks he's seen this one before." He looked over the Orc with slitted eyes, "Welcome back Hammer. How many years has it been?"

The Orc eyeballed the lizard, "Twelve years its been since I sailed last."

"Oh I see, and the pig-elf has found his way back eh? One might wonder how much he's forgotten in twelve whole years." He sipped some rum as the men at the card table chuckled.

Howl-of-the-Wolf stepped in front of the Orc, "He remembers the code Jaree-Ra. I wonder if you do?"

The lizard frowned and hissed. Some of the men at the table stood, and Deeja drew her dagger. Howl-of-the-Wolf just stood with crossed arms, like some immovable statue.

"Anyone die while I was gone?" The Orc piped in after awhile.

"No," Deeja said as she sheathed her dagger, "Not yet."

The Orc smiled, "Good, we'll be off then." He retreated towards the end of the grotto and Howl-of-the-Wolf followed. The two entered a long tunnel that seemed to end at a rock wall. Wolf reached his hand into a large fissure in the "wall" and pressed something inside. The wall slid aside and revealed Pirate Cove.

Pirate Cove had some dwemer structures in it, but it mostly consisted of natural rock formed into pathways, rooms, and other grottos. The passageway in which the Orc and Wolf had come out of opened up into the Main Room. The Main room had no roof and showed the starry night sky. Fauna and torches littered the stone walkways. A great pillar of rock stood in the center of the room like some great tree whose branches made up the walkways. Below the branches of rock was a watery floor in which many pirate ships were docked. Where the path diverged stood a post with many signs all pointing to different bars, taverns, and cafes. Next to the post sat Squall, a gambling drunk sleepily holding a tankard of rum.

"Squall! How the fuck are you!" The Orc shouted.

Squall snorted and jumped awake, "You blimey git! I spilled me glass cause a ya! I'm gonna rip you a-" Squall rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, "Hold on. Is that you Hammer? By the stars! Where ave ya been all this time!?"

The Orc laughed and patted him on the shoulder. Squall was a lousy lout, but a pirate nonetheless, "I went home man. I retired happy and rich."

"Well then what're ya doin back? Heh, not that I didn't miss ye."

"I need to find someone. He's supposed to have connections here. But not now, where are my hearties?"

Squall rubbed his chin and closed his eyes. After awhile he took a swig of his remaining rum, "Aye. I think yer harties be in the Ale bar, at least last I checked."

The Orc took off towards the bar, "Thank you squall."

Squall belched in response and headed towards Nightgate Inn to find some more rum.

The Ale bar was the biggest bar in the Cove. The room was completely dwemer made in structure, but everything that made it a bar, the tables, the torches, even the bar stand, had been brought in. The pirates had truly shaped the place up and given it purpose.

It was late at night, which was when the bar was the most alive. The Orc and Wolf pushed past people to get to a barstool. The Orc whistled for Yasha the barmaid, "Oy cutie! You remember me?"

The Nord woman wore a tight bodice and dress, and was pouring drinks at a table. When she finished, she looked over at the Orc, "Well well, if it isn't my Hammer back from the dead. How in Oblivion are ya!?" She skipped over, sat on the Orc's lap, and gave him a quick peck. The woman was pretty. She was breathtaking once, but too much mead and too much time working in a bar had started to take its toll on her.

"I'm lookin for the old Harties lass. Do you know where they are?"

Yasha giggled, "Well of course, yall used to come in here damn near every day. They still sit at the old table. You want a bottle or two?"

The Orc nudged her off his lap, "No thanks sweetheart. We'll talk later." She shrugged and walked off towards another table.

As the Orc walked up to the second story of the tavern, wolf stopped him, "You said you were looking for someone, who?"

The Orc waived the question away, "Later my friend. I want to see the rest of the gang first." The Harties was what they called themselves when they became a group. The kajiit, Verjaq Blackmane who had an orange brown coat but grew a long mane as dark as ink. His voice was as deep and low as a tiger's growl. Volf Goldheart, whose raw fetish for gold and glory had cost him his life. Anna the Kiss, lovely as a nightshade in bloom and twice as poisonous. Cassius Leone, a former legionnaire who realized which side was really worth fighting for. Tristan Masters the Gentleman, a tall breton revered as the most deadly swordsman in the cove, unless you asked Verjaq. The right side of his face had been burned by a firebolt spell awhile back and his right eye was partially blind because of it. Howl-of-the-Wolf, who had been found on a deserted island in which he claimed to be native. As quick and deadly as he was strong, the pirate's life suited him just fine. And finally the Orc, whose skill and brutality with a warhammer had earned him his title. As well as the fact that Ham-mer meant Pig-elf.

Over the table in which the Harties sat hung the flag of the Dainty Sload. The flag itself was black, like all pirate flags and had the image of a Sload holding a scimitar and an hourglass. At the table itself sat Cassius and Tristan the Gent.

Tristan shook his head and stood, "Lo! Look ere! Does my good eye deceive me, or be that the same fat fucking orc that I have missed these past twelve years?"

Cassius turned in his chair and glanced at the Orc, "Yes it is. Now you can sit down and have a drink with him." With the exception of Cassius, no pirate with any sense wore heavy armor. Any man who fell in deep water with it on would be dragged down by the sheer weight of it. However, he still wore his heavy captain's armor from when he was in the Legion. The Orc had fixed it for him, and made it lighter and more flexible, as well as painted it black.

"No no, not until I kick his ass for bein gone so long." Tristan stumbled over and mocked a swing into the Orc's jaw.

The Orc went stiff and fell to the ground, "Oof. Please mate, take pity on me! Don't end it like this!"

The Breton attempted to make a funny remark but ended up laughing so hard he fell on his ass. Even Cassius was chuckling by then. Wolf helped the Orc up and then Tristan, seeing as he was too drunk to get up by himself.

A growl emanated from a shadowed doorway, "Children you both be, after all these years."

The Orc sat heavily at the table, "Nice of you to join us Verjaq. I missed you too."

Blackmane emerged from the shadows with a plume of smoke, he wore a large black tricorn with red and green plumage. His eyes were gold and slitted like a knife's blade, "Back home from who knows where and you're still just as silly." The cat had the theatrical tendency to tuck slow burning rope into parts of his mane and light them ablaze, giving him the look of some daedra from a nightmare. He was also wearing his signature weapon on his hip, a large steel hook that strapped onto his arm like a gauntlet, "Let it be known to all! This damn orc will never change!" he shouted.

"Have a seat cat, tonight we drink till we can't see straight."

Verjaq laughed and patted the Orc's cheek, "Aven't changed one bit Hammer. Welcome back."

A lovely voice spoke up from the next room, "Well I think he's changed. I can see it in his eyes." Anna the Kiss leaned against the doorframe in a pose that would excite any man. She wore a red and black bodice with her cleavage pronounced at the top. Her hair was redder than rubies, some whispered that she dyed it with blood. She also wore a tricorn like Verjaq, but instead of just a couple feathers, she wore it backwards and decorated it with nightshades, deathbells, and plumage of all kinds. She had a one of a kind elven rapier with a golden handguard. The blade was beautiful, unique, and deadly, just like her, "Welcome home big boy. Did you miss me?" She strutted over towards the Orc and gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek.

The Orc grinned, he couldn't help it. Anna was always exceptionally charming. What drew away his attention was several objects strapped to Blackmane's chest, "Verjaq, what in Oblivion are those?"

Blackmane's eyes rose, "Ah these! While you were gone, a wonderful acquaintance was introduced to us." He pulled out one of the devices. It was made of wood and metal, although it was too small to be a club, "Supplied us with these fine things for a bit of gold."

It almost looked like a small crossbow. The Orc had seen crossbows before, but he had never seen one that looked anything like this. It didn't even have a bowstring, just a metal tube on top of it and a curved wooden handle on the end, "Alright I give. What is it?"

Blackmane thought for a moment, "What was the name again? Boomstick? Hand cannon?"

"He called it a Flintlock Pistol." Anna said, "Gave a long spiel about how 'revolutionary' and 'astounding' it was. Ya do have to admit though," She pulled a smaller looking one from inside her bodice, it was gold with light brown wood engraved with carvings of flowers, "They do have a certain charm to them."

Blackmane laughed and pulled another flintlock out, "Charm! Why look at this!" He aimed the pistol at a glass another man was holding, pulled the trigger on the bottom, and with a small explosion erupting from the barrel, the man's drink shattered into pieces. The man looked angrily at Blackmane and started towards him, sword drawn. Blackmane calmly aimed the other flintlock at the man's head and fired. The other pirate was blown backwards with a gaping hole in his face, "Aye, charm." He chuckled.

The smoke from the flintlocks mingled in the air with the smoke from his scorching mane.

* * *

><p>Finally figured out how to put those dividers on the page. Hope you guys like it so far. In case you haven't noticed I've had some inspiration from the modding community in my story, I'd suggest you check the cove out on youtube if you want a better idea of how it looks. I made up the connection between the grotto and the cove, as well as a few other things.<p>

Bear with me on the flintlocks guys, I'll make it work. Besides, how can you have pirates without em?


	6. The Tinker

**Chapter Six**: The Tinker

Death by loud explosion was nothing uncommon in Pirate Cove and shortly after Blackmane shot the man, the bar's atmosphere returned to normal. The Orc was astounded by the flintlock. Blackmane explained that they were not magical and shot a small metal ball that could be easily smelted. The bullet itself was propelled by a black powder that exploded when it was ignited.

Howl-of-the-Wolf and Cassius Leone didn't favor guns. Too loud for Wolf. He still relied on the weapons he made on his island. Cassius believed they were unfair in single combat. He had gone to the gun maker, who then enchanted his armor and shield so that they would stop bullets on contact.

Tristan the Gent detached his face from the inside of his mug and spoke up, "The man that sold em makes other things too. Motors, better weapons, better fire barrels, better ships! Demands quite a sum a gold, but fer sure he makes it worth the expense. Called himself The Tinker. Stupid name if ya ask me."

This peaked the Orc's interest, but he did not say anything about it until quite a few rounds of Grog and rum. Apparently the Tinker was a Dunmer inventor who created revolutionary technology. Mostly things based off of dwemer machines, he sold his creations and ideas off to the highest bidder. Blackmane stated that the Tinker would arrive at the cove tomorrow to work on his new ship, The Northern Cardinal.

The Orc paused, "Isn't that an imperial flagship?"

Verjaq grinned and took another swig of his drink, "Aye that be. Fancy ship she is. Anna begged me to give it to her." Anna frowned and lightly smacked his arm, "I did not! I just suggested that you rename it after our fair lady Dibella.

Blackmane waved her off, "Bah quiet. I already named it after a damn woman. Queen Potema's Revenge has a nice ring to it doesn't it? I already paid our dear Tinker to add a motor on the end and change the look of it. Should be finished with it before noon tomorrow."

The Harties called it quits after yet another round of drinks. The only one to keep composure was Howl-of-the-Wolf, who hardly drank. They managed to stumble their way out of the Ale Bar and down to the docks under the main room. The newly named "Queen Potema's Revenge" sat aside the other ships in the cove. The ship had beds for both the crew, the Hearties, and more. The Orc flopped on his bed and fell asleep immediately. That night, for the first time in awhile, he did not dream of fire, dragons, and death but of old friends and good times.

* * *

><p>The Orc had left his home in Orsinium at a young age. Orc's mature earlier than other races, but tend to die sooner for some reason. At eleven, the Orc already had the powerful build and voice of a fifteen year old human. It was at this age he traveled to Skyrim to accept the blessing of the warrior stone, and then to Stros M'Kai in Hammerfell to work on the docks. There he met Captain Morgan. Morgan only had a few rules for his crew, one of which was never to take children aboard the ship. However the Orc displayed his skill in combat, as well as skill working on a ship, Morgan took him along to a life of piracy aboard the Marie Elena. The fact that the Orc already had the build of a young man might have also had something to do with it. It was during this time the Orc found Howl-of-the-Wolf and met the rest of the Harties.<p>

Once while Captain Morgan and the Orc were sailing, they were attacked by an Aldmeri Dominion, pirate hunting ship. Armed with only his steel knife, the Orc killed a heavily armored warrior and took his elven wa hammer. He then clambered below decks and scuttled the Aldmeri ship from the inside out with his hammer, sinking it. This gave him his new name and respect among pirates. When Captain Morgan died, the position of captain of the Marie Elena was given to the Orc. After a very successful career and a few more years of piracy, "Captain Hammer" retired home and Howl-of-the-Wolf was made captain.

Around the same time the Orc became captain, the Harties were also gradually becoming more infamous. Blackmane had previously sported a small cap and did not have much of a mane at all. As vicious as he was, there was nothing signature about him. That changed when he had his revelation. Verjaq's captain, who was Tristan's captain as well, had lost his right hand in combat. On the stub at the end of his forearm, he strapped on a small hook as a replacement. The name Captain Hook immediately stuck and in succession with the name, Captain Hook changed his flag from the regular skull and crossbones to the image of a hook piercing a heart. When his flag flew, some ships surrendered out of fear before they were even attacked. Captain Hook used the terrifying image to his advantage. When a merchant or imperial ship was boarded, he usually eviscerated the captain with his hook-hand. He became a renowned pirate and scary story to tell at night.

Verjaq took this idea to the extreme. He fashioned a weapon out of a farming sickle and some bracers. With his new hook arm, he could rip apart enemies and maneuver the ship easier. Wielding his claw like gauntlet in one hand and a wide cutlass in the other, he fought like a vicious sabre cat in which few could stand against.

The name Claw stuck for Verjaq, but it wasn't enough for him. As the years went by, he grew his long beard like Mane and colored it black with squid ink. He began to dress menacingly with a large hat and dark clothes. Verjaq even began to light people on fire once their ship had been captured. He would stand and watch as they writhed in pain, only to slice their head off just before they died. The acrid smell of burning flesh and the black smoke that emanated from the corpses gave him the idea for his final flare. From then on, Verjaq wove black strings into his mane and lit their tips on fire. The terrifying daedric pirate Blackmane was born.

After a few months, Captain Hook died during a perilous attack on a royal navy convoy off the coast of Solstheim. Once the attack was over, the remaining crew had captured a royal galleon namedThe Jarl of the Sea. Most of the crew agreed that Blackmane should become captain, however Tristan the Gentleman was first mate, which made him in line to be captain, while Blackmane was quartermaster.

Tristan had adopted Captain Hook's more refined reputation. While he did not act with etiquette once he had a couple drinks, he dressed fancy and had been professionally trained in various forms of swordplay. Tristan had fashioned his own style of sword combat and wielded two thin cutlasses. The only man that could debateably face him in single combat and survive was Verjaq. Given the circumstances, the two would have almost certainly dueled and killed each other… if they were not already good friends.

Normally, pirates are an unorganized group of people, loyal to nobody, even other pirates. The Harties had met early on in their careers, and had all become fast friends. Through the years, they all retained varying degrees of care for each other. After a short game of poker and a few drinks, Tristan agreed to take the newly commandeered Jarl of the Sea and half the crew while Blackmane was content to keep Hook's old ship.

Anna the Kiss was born and raised in The temple of Dibella in Markarth, destined to be the next Sybil of Dibella. Once she came of age, she had decided that she did not believe that her destiny could be foretold. Against the wishes of the priestesses who raised her, she cut off her connection with Dibella, or so she thought, and ran away. In her search for freedom, Anna quickly hooked up with the pirates of the cove. With her learned skills of manipulation and seduction, she quickly gained a reputation as well as the position of first mate after just a few months of sailing. Seeing as pirates have a tendency to die, Anna was made captain once the previous one died less than a year later. Despite being brought up in a temple, Anna was an extremely quick learner. She quickly mastered formal swordplay and fencing as well as how to work her way around a ship.

Although she had gained a new life and seemingly escaped her former destiny, being a Sybil of Dibella isn't something that you can just stop being. Even when she thought she had escaped her old life, she could still hear the voice of lady Dibella, whispering in her ear. After a year of trying to block out the voices in her head, Anna almost went mad. That was when she met Cassius Leone.

At the time, Cassius was still a captain and commander of a large imperial warship named the Hand of the Emperor. He was sailing to Skyrim under the command of an imperial general who was aboard when Anna's ship came into view. Out of aggravation and madness, Anna flew her pirate's flag and attacked the much larger imperial ship. Cassius easily decimated the ship and any resistance the enemy crew put up. When the assault was over, the remaining pirates were taken to the brig, except for Anna who continued to attack. Before she was killed by the other imperial seamen, Cassius quickly disarmed Anna and knocked her unconscious. Cassius brought her to the Captain's quarters to discuss the terms of surrender.

When Anna awoke, instead of attempting to seduce him, she broke down. She told Cassius about how she had run away from Markarth and how Dibella was still whispering in her head. She begged him to end her madness and kill her. Cassius took pity on Anna and after comforting her, he admitted that dealing with religious turmoil was not in his training. He personally suggested that Anna should accept the voice of Dibella, listen to it instead of reject it and drive herself mad. Anna finally agreed to try and thanked Cassius in the best way she knew how.

The next morning, the imperial general ordered that all the pirates be brought to the deck of the ship. Once the pirates, including Anna, were all lined up on deck, the general ordered that they all be executed for sake of convenience. Cassius had always had doubts about the empire and its leaders. Appalled by the general's unorthodox and thoughtless decision, as well as his newfound care for Anna, Cassius executed the him instead. Cassius shouted to his crew as he freed the pirates that the general and the empire were corrupt and didn't deserve their loyalty. The sailors that agreed with Cassius quickly overwhelmed those who did not with the help of the pirates.

Cassius had been raised by a family who blindly supported the empire. Once he gained control of the ship, he realized that he had nowhere to go. With some persuasion and explanation, Anna convinced him to lead the rest of his life as a pirate. She led Cassius to pirate cove where he swore to uphold and live by the code. Cassius met the Hearties in the cove as well, and despite his brisk and seemingly unhumorous nature, he warmed up after a few drinks and fit in where it counted. Anna returned to the temple of Dibella in Markarth and made peace. She returned to the cove after a few months. Even though she retained her pirate lifestyle, she was still daughter to Dibella.

Cassius especially connected to Howl-of-the-Wolf, or Wolf. Both had solemn outlooks on life and quiet dispositions. Wolf had been found by the Orc and Captain Morgan on a mysterious island in the West Padomaic covered in ancient ruins. He was naked, save for some warpaint, and his bow. Nobody else inhabited the small island, save for a few mudcrabs, deer, and monkeys. Despite this, Wolf claimed to have been on the island for as long as he could remember. He spoke a dialect that that nobody could understand more than a few words of. A redguard crewmate claimed that it was an ancient language used by the Yokudans, he himself however only spoke a few words and phrases of it.

Once a moderate line of communication was created between Morgan and Wolf and the entire island was searched for treasure, Wolf agreed to sail as a pirate. At his home in the small island jungle he kept many weapons and clothes. Stone spears, obsidian arrows, swords made of sharks teeth and wood as well as sandals and cloaks woven from leaves and seaweed. He continued to create and wear similar gear.

Wolf was a master of silent strikes. He could swim onto a boat and kill everyone aboard without ever being seen despite his great size. Although nobody else could properly shoot his bow, he fired it with unmatched accuracy. He was also adept to climbing and could clamber up the mast of a ship in seconds. For nearly three years, Wolf and the Orc were Morgan's prized first mate and quartermaster. Morgan had founded Pirate Cove long ago with his crew. When he died of a heart attack he was close to reaching seventy.

Despite the continued success the Orc and the Hearties had over many years, like Anna the Orc could not forget his past. Pirates are not adept at saying goodbye. When one becomes a pirate and takes his vows, he knows that every day he lives may be the last. So after some quick goodbyes, the Orc left the cove and returned to the port of Stros M'Kai where he first met Morgan. He named Wolf captain of the Marie Elena and didn't look back as his ship sailed away.

* * *

><p>The next morning, or midday to be more precise, the Orc woke up to the sound of hammering and the buzz of saw blades. The Tinker's men had arrived and were working on the Queen Potema's Revenge. The Orc had to admit, the Tinker's work was impressive. By reassembling a dwemer generator, he had redesigned it as a steam powered motor. The gold turbines that were visible just below the water would propel the ship at alarming speeds. The motor took in water through a filter on the bow. The Tinker had also designed new banners for the ship. The banners were black with the image of a savage, gray, purple eyed wolf. It looked like an evil, demented version of Solitude's banner. Verjaq had already been up playing chess with Cassius. Although he was losing the game, Blackmane was immensely happy with his ship, "After a new paint job, and some black leather sails, it'll look like some demonic ship spat from the depths of Oblivion itself!"<p>

When the Orc inquired as to where the actual Tinker was, Verjaq stroked his mane, "He's got a more 'refined' taste that the rest of us, so I reckon he'd be at the cafe."

The Orc dressed in something more formal, and headed over to the cafe to find him. When he arrived, he asked the waitress where someone named the Tinker might be. She immediately pointed him to the back of the cafe. The place was mostly empty, seeing as most pirates preferred rum and grog to anything else.

The Tinker sat alone at a table in a white shirt, a long, dark blue justacorps, dark leather breeches, and black boots. The Orc introduced himself as an Orc and the Tinker introduced himself as The Tinker.

After a long sip of his mug, the Tinker spoke, "So Orc, what has inspired you to seek me out? No doubt the weapons and machines that I make. Therefore the question really is, what do you want from me?" The Tinker took another quick sip of his coffee and frowned as he peered into the mug, "This coffee tastes old, yet our lovely waitress insist that it is imported from Elsweyr and brewed fresh."

The Tinker had dark bluish skin which matched his jacket. He had short black hair and a goatee. The Orc explained his story of the reason he needed a weapon. The Tinker was astounded that the Orc planned to combat a dragon by himself. He led on to the fact that the technology the pirates had access to was only the tip of the iceberg and he had more deadly inventions that he kept for himself. He assured the Orc that at least some of them would be of use against a dragon. Eventually they came to the conclusion that the Orc would visit the Tinker's workshop and purchase a weapon he deemed deadly enough to take on a dragon with.

Before the Orc left with the Tinker, he donned his armor and said another short goodbye to his Harties. Blackmane loaned him two orcish daggers in which the Orc sheathed in his bracers. Before he left, they all had another drink together, except for Tristan the Gent. He was still recovering from his monstrous hangover and bid the Orc a sober goodbye, "Oy! Come back sooner next time or I'll kick your ass for real! Good luck on your quest you piece of shite."

Howl-of-the-Wolf, Anna, and Cassius Leone saw them out of the cove.

"Perhaps when your quest in finished, you could come back to us?" Cassius suggested, "There's a change coming for us, we can all sense it. It would be good if you'd come back to stay."

The Orc smiled and clasped his forearm, "When I left, I chose a different code. My destiny lies elsewhere. But we'll meet again friend, I don't plan to leave Skyrim. You're the only family I have now."

The Legionnaire nodded, "Be safe friend." and returned into the cove.

Anna pouted and gave him a lingering kiss, "Be back soon."

The Tinker did not bring a boat because his workshop was a house across the Solitude sawmill and therefore, well within walking distance. As the two walked towards the hulk of the Dainty Sload, they talked about the infamous siege of the docks. The Tinker was astounded that the Orc knew Volf Goldheart and asked many questions about how he kept in power for so long. It seemed incredulous to him that one man could gain such power with so few resources or allies, "The only real way to keep power in this world, is to have a bigger stick than the other guy, that is why Volf failed. He didn't think his actions through."

The Orc disagreed, "Volf's plight was not to stay in power, it was to send a message and create a martyr for the pirates of the coast. His sacrifice was a small taste of what could be. And besides, he didn't have time to think it through, he crashed his ship."

The Tinker laughed and spoke of the flintlocks and how they were mostly for show. As deadly as they were you could only fire once before they needed reloading. One would need to carry multiple guns for them to be any use in combat. Still, they had become extremely popular among the pirates while the Orc was gone. He said that he had recently created another gun, one that was longer and more accurate. He called it the Musket.

The Tinker looked around as they entered the Solitude docks district, "Could I tell you a secret Orc?"

The Orc nodded.

"My name is Azarain Assurbain of Morrowind. Not the easiest name to pronounce I suppose, but that's why I'm also the Tinker now isn't it?"

"I suppose that's some great important family in Morrowind?" the Orc guessed.

Azarain shook his head, "Was born in the poor district of Blacklight. My mother died when I was six and I never knew my father. When I was-"

The story of the Tinker was cut off by a patrolling guard, "Stop right there. Now where are you two coming from? Wouldn't be pirate cove now would it?"

The Orc crossed his arms and gripped the two orcish daggers underneath his bracers. The Tinker however simply reached into his jacket and brandished a small note in which he gave to the guard. The guard cautiously took the note and gasped once he read it. He dropped to one knee, "My most most humble apologies Mister Tinker sir." the guard babbled.

Azarain waved his hand, "Yes yes, now go away. You're wasting my precious time." The guard jumped to his feet and scrambled away so fast he tripped.

The Tinker grinned, "As I was saying, I was born on the streets of Blacklight."

The Orc was astounded by the guard's reaction to the tiny note, but let it drop.

As they neared the sawmill, Azarain wrapped up his story of rags to riches, "When I was sixteen, my talents were discovered by a rich politician. He funded my inventing until I ran off to Skyrim, fortune in hand. I gained contacts on both legitimate and ehh… illegitimate sides of society all over Tamriel, and I've been moving around ever since. I've only recently returned to Skyrim."

At the end of the sawmill on the river, sat a small boat. Directly across the river from it, sat a large manor with steam jutting from the chimneys, "That's your home?" the Orc asked.

Azarain smiled, "Yes it is. Not quite what you expected?"

The Orc looked back at the house across the river. It was a nice home, with a miniature dock in front next to a marble picnic table. It was two stories with an open balcony on top. A separate tower sat to the right of the house, "I just imagined something a little more grandeur."

Azarain untied the boat from the dock, "That's where you'll be surprised my friend, just wait until we get inside."

The Orc stepped into the boat and started to row to the other side once Azarain hopped in, "So what is it that brings you to Skyrim of all places then? Surely the Tinker could work in a more… comfortable place than the cold of Skyrim."

"Two reasons my orcish friend. Skyrim is the nation most littered with dwemer ruins. I recently discovered the key to unlocking some of their ideas. I've always been able take something complex and figure out how it worked with the exception of dwemer technology. Until recently, my inventions have been limited and slow. But now, this opens up a whole new range of discovery! As well as potential business." he chuckled.

The Orc nodded, "And the second reason?"

Azarain was almost lost in thought, "Hmm? Oh yes. I have recently found an apprentice! On my last scouting mission into the dwemer ruins of Avanchnzel, I had been looking for dwemer technology with a group of hired mercenaries. It always helps to have some hands to carry things back. All of the sudden, I heard someone calling for help. My mercenaries and I rushed to see who was calling us, and we found him hidden away behind some pipes. Those twisted creatures, the falmer, were desperately trying to claw their way towards him. He was already covered in scratches and burns. My mercenaries quickly dispatched the creatures, and we helped the poor man out from behind the pipes. I brought him back to the surface immediately and treated his wounds. His pain stopped after a few hours, but many of his injuries will never heal. I brought him back home and gave him shelter. After a few days of working on the motor designs for your friend Blackmane, I noticed that the man was very skilled in creating and improving complex things. In a day, he improved a modified crossbow bolt I had been working on despite being partially blind.

The boat reached the other side of the river and the Orc quickly tied it to a post that jutted out from the end of the dock. Two golden dwemer urns sat on either side of the house. They both held juniper berry trees. While the house was dark and silent, windows of the tower on the right side glowed with an unfamiliar light. Steam hissed from the tower's chimney and a slight buzzing noise could be heard from inside, "Ah!" Azarain exclaimed, "Sounds like he's in the workshop. I hope he's come up with something new."

The Orc followed him to the steam powered workshop. The workshop's round doors opened into a dark room. The Orc squinted his eyes and his vision slowly came back only to be lost again when Azarain turned on the Lights. The Orc's eyes darted about the room, "What magic is this?"

"Not magic, electricity." Azarain corrected, "It's a bright form of energy that can be safely used to illuminate rooms if confined to a small transparent container! I call it the Light Sphere." He gestured towards the ceiling where a small, but bright, "light sphere" illuminated the room, "While experimenting with lightning spells, I discovered that lightning and electricity are in fact the same thing!"

The Orc scratched his head, "So… it is magic?"

Azarain smacked his forehead, "Yes Orc, it is magic."

All of the sudden the buzzing from upstairs stopped and a deep voice called down, "Azarain is that you?"

"Yes it is I and I've brought a guest. We'll be right up!"

The Orc looked at the ladder on the left side of the room. It seemed to stop at the ceiling in a dead end until Azarain pulled a small lever next to the light switch. With a small release of steam, a horizontal door at the top of the stairs opened up. The stairs now led to the second story of the workshop. The Orc followed Azarain up the stairs. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the Tinker's apprentice, "Buren?"

The Tinker's apprentice, Buren gro-Gol Heim turned from his workbench counter. His eyes were a cloudy white and his once handsome face and body were dominated by horrible burns. His fire red hair was tied in a small ponytail, similar to the Orc's hairstyle and he wore a pair of goggles on his forehead. He put down the tool he had been working with and lowered the goggles over his eyes.

Buren's face contorted with confusion as he observed the Orc, "Nat, is that you?"e

* * *

><p>Hurrah! Finally a name for "The Orc" and who might this new character be? Seriously though, give me some feedback guys, I really wanna know how you feel about all the crap I'm putting in here.<p>

Shout out to ithlia, who created the moors mod (that's right! I don't pull this stuff out of my ass.) It's an amazing mod and I suggest you guys check it out if you wanna get a better idea of what it looks like in the story.

Just started my first semester of college, so yay! I promise to keep posting chapters whenever I can, as soon as I can. Bear with me guys! I'm almost halfway through!

Thanks again to any who read (and hopefully enjoyed) my story.


	7. The Moors

**Chapter Seven**: The Moors

"Shh! Deer at two o'clock, I'll take it out." Nat whispered as he drew his bowstring. It was late afternoon and he and Buren were completely hidden in the tall brush of the forest. Just as he was about to let the arrow fly, the deer jerked and fell to the ground. Buren had shot the deer before he could. "You fucking asshole! I had that one! Show off!"

Buren laughed as Nat swatted at him with his bow, "Ha ha ha! Well we got him didn't we? Now stop whining and help me bring it back home."

Nat grimaced and they trotted towards the downed animal. The deer was average in size and had tiny antlers, with a long orcish arrow protruding from it's ribcage, "Impressive as always," Nat admitted, "Right in the heart."

Buren put his hand to his chest and took a dramatic bow, "Thank you thank you ladies and gentlemen!" That day alone, they had bagged three rabbits, a fox, two wolves, and a pheasant while they were stalking the deer. Buren yanked the arrow from the deer's carcass and slung the animal over his shoulder. Nat and Buren both wore fur armor during the hunt so they did not alert their prey.

As they neared their home, Nat paused to take a breath, "There's our stronghold Buren, as pretty as the day is long."

Buren glanced at Nat with a sideways grin, "Doesn't that mean ugly?" Nat tossed a rabbit at his head.

In truth, Buren did have a great love for the stronghold Gol Heim. I was his home, Nat's home, and it stood atop the mountain like a beacon of strength. Nat had built it back up when he returned from his years as a pirate. Buren and the rest of the dwindling tribe had welcomed him until the chief came out of the longhouse.

As a young orc, Nat had run away from home out of fear of his father, Gnash. Gnash was a cruel chief. In orcish custom, the chief is killed by another orc in his tribe who then becomes chief. Gnash wanted to escape this fate and live out his days until he was old and gray. As soon as any of his sons looked strong enough to swing a hammer, he immediately challenged them to a fight and killed them. As Nat's body grew older and more powerful, so too did his fear of his father. Out of desperation, he ran away in the night. Gnash had been angry at his son for his cowardice but soon forgot him.

When Nat finally returned to Gol Heim, over ten years had passed. The only males that remained in the tribe were those who had sworn to never to challenge the chief. Over the years, Gnash had grown old, but he had retained his great strength and cruelty. He had forbid any of the tribe to leave beyond the gate out of paranoia. If the tribe had continued along this path, they would have all died.

Nat challenged his father immediately and brandished his elven warhammer in one hand, and a steel shield in the other. His father, clad in full orcish gear, charged with his warhammer and two swords. The two of them fought for hours on end swinging and dodging, hacking and blocking. At the climax of the battle, Gnash's swords were dull and useless and Nat's shield had been torn to shit. Warhammer against warhammer, the two Orcs battled until Nat's elven warhammer split in two. As Gnash brought down a savage strike, Nat disarmed him and used the momentum of his swing to deliver a killing blow to the back of his father's head. Gnash died immediately and Nat became chief. Even though he drove Nat away and had dishonored orcish tradition, Gnash was still Nat's father. Nat buried him just outside Gol Heim's walls.

Because of Gnash's short sightedness and folly, the tribe had suffered in recent years. Nat turned that all around. Gol Heim was in a wonderful location in the middle of Orsinium. It sat on top of a mountain surrounded by forests. In ten short years Nat had completely turned the dying camp into a flourishing fortress. Captain Morgan often kept trained trolls aboard his ship during imperial raids. Nat already had a natural skill in working with them so Morgan taught him all he knew. Trolls littered the stables in Gol Heim, eager to defend the stronghold and loyal to the tribe. Nat had resumed trading with other strongholds, added large slingshots to the watchtowers, and added a library. Most importantly, he built a shrine to Malacath in the middle of Gol Heim in which he prayed to daily.

Nat had always been devout worshiper of Malacath, even through his years as a pirate. He made sure not break the code of Malacath while living by the code of pirates. This was difficult as the two codes seemed to directly contradict eachother in parts. Don't steal, don't attack or kill people for no reason, versus Value freedom, money, and leisure. Through this struggle to balance the two creeds, the Orc realized something. The code of Malacath accepted plunder of enemies. As long as the things being taken belonged to a defeated enemy, Malacath's code allowed them to be taken. And after all, _reasons_ for attacking people could be miniscule or obscure. Dear lord Malacath, today I killed a man because he stole my sweetroll.

* * *

><p>As Buren and Nat neared Gol Heim, a black shadow covered them. They looked up in shock and saw the black terror Alduin.<p>

_Fire crackling_

_Wood shattering_

_A child's scream_

_Drowned out by a roar_

_Yol Toor Shul!_

Nat dropped the game he was carrying immediately and rushed to his home, "Buren!" he shouted, "Get to the watchtower and shoot that thing out of the sky with the slingshot!"

Buren shook his head and dashed after Nat. The longhouse was in flames. Orcs and trolls alike ran about. Most kept their composure and fought desperately to repel the black death with arrows and slingshots that Nat had built. The black dragon was circling the stronghold, constantly bathing it in flames. When the two reached the stronghold, they split up. Buren dashed to the nearest scouting tower and began to arm a slingshot. Nat dashed to the flaming longhouse. His small children were inside.

Before he could reach the door of the longhouse, Nat heard a vicious snap and the entire structure came down. Nat stopped dead in his tracks in front of the flaming wretch that used to be his home and went to his knees. His vision blurred and he screamed. He was about to call Buren for help, but when he turned he saw the watchtower Buren had been in engulfed in flames. The dragon Alduin hovered over the watchtower and took a breath, "_Fus Ro Dah!_" echoed through the valley of orsinium and the watchtower was blown to flaming pieces. Dead trolls and orcs littered the ground. Nat saw two of his wives dead with weapons in their hands. He stood suddenly, light headed and numb. His eyes opened wide as Alduin circled Gol Heim once more. Nat's vision turned hazy red and his eyes became bloodshot. His muscles swelled, making his fur armor tight fitting. He gripped two swords from his fallen family and hurled them at the black death once it flew over the stronghold. The blades struck the dragon's left wing and underbelly. Alduin fell to the ground. Nat ripped the steel knife he had kept from his boot and charged at the felled dragon's head. Alduin simply looked up and uttered, "_Fus Ro Dah_!" Nat flew back into the flaming longhouse and died.

When the dragon was gone, and the flames of the dead stronghold were cooled, the Orc emerged from the blackened rubble of his home. An orc chief who is unable to defend his stronghold from death and ruin has no purpose on Nirn and should die honorably attempting to defend it. Since Nat was still alive and his stronghold was not, he could no longer be Nat the orc chief. From then on, he was just an orc. His family was dead. The only reason he still had to live was to destroy Alduin.

He spent the remainder of the day creating a pyre for his dead tribe from whatever wood had not burned yet. Most of his family was incinerated by the fires, but he gave who he could find a proper burial. From the entire stronghold he could salvage enough food for three days, his set of orcish armor, his father's warhammer which he kept over his bed, and his daughter Shel's doll which he found on her corpse. She had not died in the fire, but had been crushed by the longhouse while hiding under Nat's bed. She was five years old.

* * *

><p>Buren and the Orc stared back at eachother in disbelief, "How did- What happened!?" the Orc stuttered.<p>

Buren cracked a smile and limped over to the Orc, "It's good to see you brother." They clasped arms and touched foreheads.

Azarain Assurbain was completely flabberghasted, "Do you two… er am I missing something?"

The Orc patted the Tinker on the shoulder and sighed, "I need to sit down. Do you have somewhere we can sit?"

Azarain nodded excessively, "Yes yes yes, of course. Right this way." He led them outside the workshop and into the west wing of the manor. Azarain opened the door and turned on the house lights. The home opened up to a living room with leather couches and caged birds and a kitchen behind that. The walls and ceiling were reinforced with dwarven metal and pipes that were partially covered by red cloth and curtains. Dwarven artifacts and inventions covered the interior of the house.

The Orc took off his helmet and weapons and fell on the couch. He placed his three daggers on the mini-table next to the couch and rested the warhammer against the couch's arm. He rubbed his face and took a deep breath. Buren limped over to an armchair and sat heavily in a similar fashion.

Azarain, now uncomfortable in his own home, awkwardly sided behind the third chair. After a minute of silence, he rubbed his temples and clapped his hands, "You guys want some spiced mead? I have a few cooled in the freezer."

The Orc paused, "Freezer?"

Buren waived off the Orc's confusion, "Yes, thank you Azarain."

The Tinker quickly strode into the kitchen and prepared some glasses.

Buren removed his goggles and clipped them on his belt. He rubbed his eyes and groaned, "This isn't going away. Azarain couldn't completely patch me up, even with all his technology and magic."

The Orc nodded, "That's a shame. You look like shit."

Buren smiled dryly and nodded, "I suppose you want to know how I'm not a pile of ash?"

"It would be nice if you would explain that."

Buren sat back and closed his blank eyes, "During the attack, after I hit that dragon with a couple rocks from the slingshot, he set the tower on fire. I was lit on fire as well and after tearing my fur armor off did no good, I sought to jump out of the tower and run to the well. As I jumped off the tower, I was hit by a blast of blue energy that sent me flying away from Gol Heim."

"The blast tossed me into the woods. I fell into a dwemer vent that led to an underground tunnel. You can't imagine the pain Nat. Unable to see or feel. My leg's were broken. My skin fell off in burnt patches as I crawled through the blackness. Eventually the Tinker found me and he helped me recover."

The Orc rubbed his temples for awhile, "It's unbelievable that you survived Buren. Not that I'm unhappy. Nobody else made it out."

Buren nodded, "That's what I was afraid of."

Azarain came back with the mead and three glasses, "Now how is it you two know eachother?"

The Orcs chuckled, "We're cousins per say." Buren said, "Nat and I go back since the beginning."

Azarain shifted in his chair as he poured, "Nat?" he said confusedly.

"Just Orc now," the Orc corrected, "When I failed as a chief, I lost my right to be Nat. It is our father, Malacath's will. Now I am just an Orc."

Buren sat up, "That's not right Nat. When Gol Heim was destroyed, there was nothing you could do about it. Nobody can beat that thing."

"Wrong." The Orc stated, "That's why I'm here. To ascertain a way to beat Alduin."

Buren stood, furious, "Azarain! You don't have anything that can kill a dragon! You've doomed my friend with false hope."

Azarain slid over Buren's glass, "On the contrary my friend. This Orc clearly displays enormous skill. On his own willpower and initiative, he continued to survive and seek me out. Given the right tools I believe that he can beat that thing."

"Bah!" Buren paced angrily, "You didn't see the dragon that did this to me Azarain." He gestured to his eyes and gripped his leg, "You don't have any idea of how to beat that dragon. And you!" He pointed at the Orc, "You're crazy for believing you can avenge anyone! It's not your fault our home was destroyed, it's Malacath's! If he cared for his children at all, he would have helped us defend ourselves. Instead he remains silent as always. You're crazy for still believing in him."

The Orc stood and stared at Buren, "Our father is not to blame for my failure. I will find this dragon, kill it, and once I am done I will pray for Malacath's forgiveness at his shrine. I'm sorry you have lost faith in him Buren and I wish you well in life, but I cannot forget my family. I will avenge them or die trying."

The two of them stood and stared at eachother for awhile. Azarain remained in his chair, trying to make himself as small as possible. Finally Buren sighed and shook his head, "You're insane Nat, but if Azarain is willing to help you without prior payment then he must have quite some faith in you." The two orcs sat back down and finished their drinks.

Eventually drinks turned into lunch. When the trio sat down at the dinner table, Azarain pulled another lever and a small, round dwarven automation popped out of the wall. The Orc was alarmed, but Buren assured him that the machine was friendly.

The automation unfolded into a tall, human like figure. At Azarain's request, the robot made lunch at lightning fast speed. In two minutes, a lunch of venison sandwiches and Elsweyr fondue was hot ready. Azarain revealed that he had hidden servant/defense automations all over the property. He claimed that with simple rewiring, a dwarven robot could be turned into a loyal servant or watchdog.

After lunch, it was decided that the Orc would stay in the East wing guest bedrooms until the location of Alduin was ascertained. The East wing was similar to the West wing in theme with pipes, marble walls, and lights. A small table sat in the entryway next to a large fireplace. Rooms were lined up along the back hall along with a washbasin and food cabinets. Of the four guest bedrooms, Buren took the one at the end of the hall. The Orc took the one next to it. Unlike the typical Skyrim bed, these beds were covered in the finest cloths and mattresses. The backboard was golden and a small Dwarven oil candle sat on the nightstand, "Some people use Dwarven oil for potions." Azarain scoffed, "Such a waste." The Tinker's own room was in the second story of the west wing.

The Orc deposited his armor and weapons in his room, save for his steel knife. He changed in his room, however the only clothing that fit him comfortably was a large dunmer outfit. When he came out of the room, Azarain and Buren led him to the upstairs reading room. The entire back wall of the reading room was covered in full bookshelves. The room itself was small with four chairs and end tables. On the side wall, it had a model castle made of wood and gold. Tiny mannequins adorned the miniature towers and buttresses.

Azarain chose a book from the shelf and sat down in one of the chairs, "There are quite a few designs I've created in my lifetime. Towards the beginning of my life I was funded to create weapons, war machines, more effective ways to destroy. The man who took me from the gutters, took care of me, fed me, clothed me. He was like a father to me, or the closest I'd ever had to one. It wasn't till later that I realized that I was just a tool to him. An investment." He licked his fingers and flipped through the book, "I escaped from him in my early adulthood. I have since traveled Tamriel many times over, creating and selling inventions."

He stopped at a page in his book, "Ah here we are." He handed the open book to the Orc, "The idea is that you can't do any substantial damage to the dragon while it is airborne. So how can we keep it on the ground?" Azarain pointed to the design on open page, "I call it a Harpoon. It's launched by a device similar to a large scale bow. The harpoon is like a large metal arrow specifically designed to stay lodged in anything it penetrates."

The Orc grinned, "Brutal, but how will a 'giant arrow' keep Alduin on the ground?"

"It wouldn't," the Tinker admitted, "Unless the harpoon was attached to the ground by a large chain."

Buren shook his head, "It won't work. It'll just pull the chains out of the ground."

"Hmm, you're right. I wonder how many harpoons we need. How large would you say this thing is?" the Tinker asked.

The Orc scratched his unshaven chin, "Very large. About the size of a small tower or camp."

Azarain closed the book, "Perfect! The bigger the target, the easier it is to hit and the heavier it is. Now we just need to-" Azarain was interrupted by a high pitched beeping noise and a flashing red light coming from the ceiling.

A mechanical voice spoke from within the walls of the house, "Attention. Unidentified group of twenty two individuals spotted on premises. One individual identified as Taron Dreth."

"Fuck!" Azarain swore, "Buren, get me my crossbow and activate the manor defense system." Buren nodded and quickly hopped downstairs. Azarain turned to the Orc, "Out business deal is having a short delay my friend. I would most appreciate it if you would ready yourself for combat."

"What's going on? Who is Taron Dreth?" the Orc asked.

"He's a rival of mine. Well, not really a rival. More of a sadistic collector of dwemer technology. Just a moment." He announced, "Prepare defense systems numbers one two and three."

Azarain headed downstairs and Buren tossed him a crossbow unlike any the Orc had ever seen. It was long and gold with a sight on the top and a cylinder on the bottom, "What is that?" the Orc asked amazed.

Buren responded, "It's an automatic crossbow. The Dawnguard had a little problem with some vampires awhile back, so Azarain sold them a small portion of the crossbow technology. Naturally he keeps the best for himself."

The Tinker shrugged, "Naturally. Now get armored up, both of you. It sounds like Taron has really gone off the edge this time.

The Orc suited up in his armor as Buren slipped into some dwemer armor, "The Tinker enchanted the armor to be less of a strain on my body. Carry weight increased, stamina increased, all that shit. He even implanted some sight-improving goggles into the helmet."

The Orc nodded as he slipped on his helmet, "Impressive."

Buren slipped his helmet on as well. The eye holes in the dwarven helm were slightly illuminated with a dull white light, "It's sad isn't it?" Buren asked, "I'm always going to be a shell of the orc I once was because of my injuries. I'll always need help."

The Orc shook his head, "Don't think that way. You can still make the most of the life you have." He patted Buren's back, "Lets go kill some people."

* * *

><p>Azarain, Buren, and the Orc stood in the canopy of the house. Below them, scattered around Azarain's property were over twenty hired mercenaries and bandits. Behind them all stood Taron Dreth. The dark elf wore a sneery eyed look with his master robes and boots. "Give up Azarain!" He shouted up, "I have you surrounded. All I ask for is that you hand over the-" Taron was cut off by a modified crossbow bolt that lodged itself in his adam's apple. With a gurgle, he dropped dead.<p>

Buren and the Orc looked at Azarain who smiled sheepishly and lowered his crossbow, "What? It's not like he was saying anything important." He turned back to the mass of mercenaries gathered below the house, "It would be nice if you would all leave now. My security is very expensive and I would prefer not to use it too often." He pulled out a button from his pocket and pressed it. Immediately, vents on the side of the house opened up and out poured dwemer robots who formed a line in front of the house, blocking the bandits.

The thugs ignored Azarain's advice and proceeded to attack the defense bots. Azarain sighed, raised his crossbow, and took a few potshots at the bandits, "Every single time. They never ever listen."

Buren was suppressing a laugh and the Orc looked confused, "How often does he get attacked?" The Orc asked Buren.

"Just a few times a year, sometimes more. Usually unhappy clients or somebody trying to steal his inventions." As the bandits were being slowly defeated, Buren led the Orc back downstairs, "Once Alduin is on the ground how are you going to take him out? He breathes fire, ice, and energy itself. I've heard he can bend space and time with his voice. Not to mention the fact that he is a giant flying lizard with claws and spikes. Believe it or not, I don't believe you can kill this thing with your warhammer Nat. Follow me to the Armory slash cellar."

When the two of them headed outside, the dwarven defense bots were cleaning up the dead bandits, "We take and sell any valuable equipment they might have. It's a nice little side bonus. Unless of course they damage more in the attack than they own." He gestured to a defense bot that had been smashed to pieces by a large bandit, "Azarain won't be happy. It takes him forever to reprogram those things. Very valuable."

The Orc scratched his head, "Uh… ree program?"

"Never mind." Buren led him around the left side of the house to a small round door and opened it, "Ladies first." he said as the Orc hopped in the armory/ cellar.

The Armory was just as expensive looking as the rest of the house, but less luxurious. Mannequins were dressed in strange and unidentifiable gear. Storage compartments lined the walls as well as various gadgets and weapons on shelves. A large furnace-like device enclosed by a barred door stood in the back of the room, "That generator is directly connected to the flow of the river." Buren explained, "It turns the current of the river into electrical power and purifies the water system in the house." He walked over to a stone chest and pressed the center emblem. The chest popped open and revealed a multitude of weapons. As Buren sorted through the chest the Orc was examining the weapon covered walls. A short staff that looked like a dwemer mace stood out. The Orc picked it up and examined it, "What's this thing?" he asked.

Buren hopped up and snatched it out of the Orc's hands, "Be careful, that device is Extremely dangerous. It's called a Bass Cannon." He gently placed the staff back on its weapon rack and led the Orc over to a mannequin. The mannequin was wearing black armor that seemed light but strong. Small ebony scales were intertwined with the armor's black leather. A large hood covered the top of the mannequin's face. Buren handed the Orc an odd gauntlet he was holding. It had leather and cloth straps, but the only metal on the gauntlet was a slender, rectangular device that went under the forearm.

"How is this thing supposed to give me any protection?" the Orc asked.

Buren strapped the other gauntlet onto his left arm, "That's not the point of the device." he flicked his wrist backwards and a thin blade, about eight inches long, protruded from the tip of the device, "A spring powered blade that can be instantly drawn and is completely _hidden_." Buren flicked back his wrist again and the blade shot back into the gauntlet, "Azarain calls it a Quickblade." He unstrapped it and handed it to the Orc.

"You mentioned the lack of protection the quickblade offers. Fortunately I have this." Buren unstrapped the gauntlets that the dark mannequin wore. They were sleek ebony, painted so they didn't reflect light. These gauntlets only covered the top of the forearm and had wide straps on the bottom that latched onto the quickblade. However their most noticeable feature was the claw-like spikes that protruded from the outer sides of the gauntlets, "These are designed for fighting someone with a sword. The metal of the gauntlets are light and designed so that blows glance off them easier. The metal teeth on the sides are for catching the blade mid swing. When the two gauntlets and the quickblade are used together, they can deal devastating counter strikes against enemies."

The Orc equipped the quickblades and strapped the serrated, dark gauntlets on over them, "So these are going to help me defeat Alduin?"

Buren shook his head, "No. Just a little gift from me to you."

Azarain strode through the cellar door, "Buren you're giving away gifts for free! Have I taught you nothing?" he mocked, "Now then, going back to our previous business arrangement, you should need about fifteen harpoon launchers as well as something to kill the dragon once he's down." He paused and thought for a moment.

"We could build that large scale gun you have the schematics for." Buren suggested, "It's the only device I can think of that is powerful enough to damage that thing."

Azarain's eyes lit up, "Ah! The cannon! Of course. Now there's a device that'll change the world. Like the guns I've made it can only fire once, but that should be all we need if we get a direct hit on the thing. I'll start making several of them right away." He hurried off towards the workshop.

The Orc flexed his fists in the gauntlets. They were light as leather but as harder than steel. They had tiny black points on the knuckles that would make punching more deadly. The quickblade was surprisingly easy to use. With a flick of his wrists, the Orc activated both blades and examined them, "These are too cool. We have got to test them out! Are there any scumbags nearby?"

Buren laughed and patted the Orc on the back, "The cannons and harpoon launchers are going to take awhile to make. You'll have plenty of time to ready yourself for Alduin. Divines know you'll need it."

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading guys!<p>

College is a pain in the ass, but fun. Don't worry, I'll finish this story if it's the last thing I do. In fact I have quite a few ideas for sequels depending on what you guys like. Let me know what you love/ hate about the story. Thanks again!

Again, check out the Moors Mod by Ithlia to get a better idea of what Azarain's house looks like and the Pirate Cove mod to get a better feel of what Pirate Cove looks like.


	8. Sales my friend

**Chapter Eight**: Sales my friend

The elk trotted to the river and stopped. He looked around once more before arching his neck and lapping up the gentle current of the river. Suddenly his ears went back and his head jolted up as he heard something. The elk looked left and right and behind himself. When he saw nothing he returned his lips to the river and began to drink again.

The Orc unsheathed both of his quickblades and leapt out of the pine tree he was hiding in. The elk directly below him was drinking from the Karth river. He fell upon the elk and sunk the quickblades into its skull. The animal died immediately and fell forward, submerging it's face into the river. The Orc pulled the quickblades out with a jerk and cleaned them off with a cloth before sliding them back into place.

It had been nearly a week since he first arrived at the Tinker's home. Both Buren and Azarain had since been working on creating cannons and harpoon launchers. The two of them argued excessively about designs. Azarain wanted to make one large cannon that would do a devastating amount of damage. Buren wanted a multitude of smaller cannons to ensure a hit on the dragon. They eventually came to the conclusion that three medium sized cannons would be created.

The harpoons were another matter. After a similar amount of debating, it was decided that the harpoons would be launched by simple pipe-like devices with a spring mechanism inside, similar to the quickblades. The result, of which they had all tested two days before, was that the harpoon shot out of the pipe and deeply lodged itself into a boulder half a mile away.

Extremely satisfied with the results of the harpoon launcher, the focus was now on the cannons. The specific design of which, Buren and Azarain were still fighting about. When the Orc dragged the elk back to the manor, he could hear both Buren and Azarain debating inside the steam powered workshop.

"It needs to be short and wide with a barrel length of at least four hundred and fifty centimeters!" Azarain preached as he waived his blueprints in front of Buren's face, "Its shot holds enough force to knock the beast out of the sky with one hit!"

Buren swatted the blueprint out of his view, "It needs to be designed similarly to the flintlock with a slim barrel, reinforcement rings, and a swell of the muzzle. That's the only way it will be accurate! Besides, your fat cannon is too heavy to position!"

"My cannon can be taken apart and reassembled. It's more mobile than your cannon!"

Buren removed his golden goggles and his misty eyes glared at Azarain. When Buren's skin burned, Azarain had only been able to partially heal him. His orange hair was missing a patch on the left side of his skull. His scarred face was light pink in areas, his skin roped and cracked, almost like a spider web. Buren sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Each piece of your cannon weighs nearly a ton. How does taking it apart make it more mobile if nobody can pick up the pieces?"

Azarain opened his mouth and paused. After a minute of thinking, he calmly crumpled his blueprint into a ball and tossed it aside, "You win. I need a drink." He admitted and stormed off towards the house.

Azarain nearly ran into the Orc on his way out, "Oh wonderful! You brought dinner. I'll have a chef bot clean it right away." He pressed a button in his pocket and a robot popped out of the manor. It took the elk from the Orc and carried it around the back of the house.

The Orc scrutinized the machine as it took his kill away, "Those things still creep me out. Aren't you afraid they might turn on you or something?"

Azarain chuckled as they walked towards the west wing of the house, "No no, they don't work that way. The dwemer automatons don't have will like people or animals. They have a set code in their hard drive that I rewrote. They only see in ones and zeros and they only respond to wireless commands given to them." The Tinker stepped inside the kitchen and reached into the fridge, "You want wine or mead?"

"Mead." The Orc extended his hand and caught a bottle of chilled Nord mead. They both sat down at the table and the Tinker continued.

"The method in which they are powered is what I can't duplicate. Automations are given the ability to react and respond because they are powered by a soul gem. Somehow the dwemer were able to connect the essence of the soul inside the gem to the automation's body. This makes them in an undead like state, able to walk around and view their surroundings, but the only will they have is the programming in the bodies. When the dwemer first connected the soul gem to the body, they programmed the body to 'protect.' When I explore dwemer ruins, I disable the automation's body, rewire the body's programming to 'obey me,' and put it back together. The result is an obedient, productive, and immortal servant and guard."

The Orc had lost track of the explanation at the word hard drive, "Sounds cool. When are the cannons and harpoons going to be ready?" he asked.

Azarain seemed lost in thought as he stroked his goatee and stared into space. His eyes darted back and forth and he took another sip of his Cyrodilic wine.

"Oy! You in there?" The Orc shook him.

Azarain jumped as he disconnected from his thought process, "Oh yes. Most of the harpoons are finished already and Buren and I have… eh more or less decided on the design of the cannon. Speaking of cannons," The Tinker finished his glass of wine and recorked the bottle, "As long as you're in my debt, I'd like you to help me with something."

The Orc leaned back in his chair, "Oh really? And how would I help you?"

Azarain pulled a slip of paper from his dark blue justacorps pocket and slid it over to the Orc, "Sales my friend."

The Orc opened the paper slip. The image of a deadly looking cannon spewing a flaming cannon ball was drawn on the bottom of the flier. Text was written on the top of the sheet which the Orc read, "Want to be the Scourge of the six seas? Buy the new Cannon for your vessel! Destroy all who oppose you." And in the tiny bottom print of the flier he read, "The Tinker."

"Cannons are powerful enough to scuttle a ship and they don't have to move once they're positioned on the ship. Should make a decent profit from Blackmane. Recently he's been interested in my inventions."

"You mean weapons?"

Azarain sighed, "My creative genius is always unappreciated unless it can be used for killing. Nevertheless, it does put food on the table and keeps the lights on."

* * *

><p>Readying himself for the journey back to Pirate Cove the Orc slipped on a plain pair of trousers, leather boots, and a white tunic. He wore a satchel with the fliers inside and two pistols on his hip. Under his sleeves, the quickblades were strapped to his wrists. Azarain had asked the Orc to show them off while he was in the cove in order to "promote interest in his services." The Orc didn't like being a sales promoter, but he didn't have any idea of how he was going to pay Azarain back for the cannons. Might as well do him a favor or two while he figured it out.<p>

As the Orc stepped out the door, Buren stepped out of the workshop. His legs were supported by some kind of splints that were attached to his ankles and upper thighs. He also had a walking staff for support and wore a backpack.

"Buren, what are you all dressed up for?" the Orc called.

Buren readjusted his golden goggles and lumbered towards the Orc, "I'm off to the cove with you. Azarain said I should take some time off work and meet some clients." He walked over to the small dock in front of the house and carefully lowered himself into the rowboat, "Well c'mon Nat! The boat isn't gonna row itself!"

The Orc shook his head and hopped in the boat as well.

As they neared the Solitude docks, Buren stopped. His legs were clearly hurting as he sat and readjusted his splints, "So tell me Nat, what was it like being a pirate for all those years?"

"It was liberating." He admitted, "When we were young, my father kept me in a constant state of terror. Each time one of my older brothers got older, he would just kill them. On my birthdays I would hide under my bed like a scared kitten. As a pirate, I learned then what I should have learned in the stronghold. That you face your problems without fear of failure."

Buren gritted his teeth and stood, "A good ideology from such a rowdy bunch of people. A drunken pirate couldn't last two minutes in a decent bar without starting a fight from what I've heard." As they walked past the docs, the Orc noticed a few more imperial ships in the bay.

"It's true, the pirates are quite a hectic bunch at times. I suppose that's what happens when your only morals are freedom, money, and fucking."

"Sounds like my kind of life!" Buren laughed as he limped along, "Although, one might wonder why they settle for so little."

The Orc's brow furrowed with his confusion, "I don't follow."

"The pirate's of the cove have manpower, firepower, good holdings all over Tamriel, and a dedicated hatred towards government." He explained, "Why don't they do something big? Something that would really damage the institution of the empire?"

"We did." The Orc said solemnly.

"No no, I don't mean the siege of the Solitude docks." He waved his hand, "I mean something organized. An actual plan meant to work."

"I wasn't talking about Volf's blockade. I was talking about something else. But it's a long story."

"Well what did they do?" Buren inquired, "I got nothin but time."

The Orc cleared his throat, "In the third era, year 248, the Camoran usurper took control of Valenwood from the empire. Naturally, the empire didn't like that and focused its attention on beating the usurper. The pirates of Cyrodil had been based in the city of Anvil for years, which at the time was only an assortment of half-assed huts by the sea. The place was lawless though, rum flowed like water, beautiful women all around, and good brawls every night! With the imperial fleet distracted by the Camoran Usurper, they turned from a bunch of drunken louts, into an army of deadly marauders. In a year, pirates controlled every major trade route in southwestern Tamriel. They were led by captain Dugal and his syndicate, the Red Sabre. They ruled the southwestern seas for nearly fourteen years. Then the Camoran Usurper was defeated, and the entire imperial fleet mobilized. Base by base, the Red Sabre's were obliterated along the coast. Eventually the conflict led to a final standoff at Anvil. Only three pirate vessels stood against the remaining imperial navy, Dugal's ship the Black Flag, the Sea Tub Clarabella, and the Marie Elena. Only the Marie Elena escaped."

"So… they didn't have enough ships?" Buren surmised.

"No, pirates are anarchists. Bye their very nature, they aren't meant to be organized into an army. They're just a collection of sailors that want to live a certain way. Without government or law."

"If you say so." Buren sighed and brushed an orange hair out of his face, "Still, it would have been nice."

Nat smiled sadly, "I'm sorry I didn't take you with me all those years ago when I ran away. You were older and had already sworn not to fight Gnash, so I thought you would be okay when I was gone. We should have stuck together like brothers."

"It's okay Nat. I don't regret my life." Buren clasped his shoulder, "I'm just glad you came back."

* * *

><p>When the two reached Broken Oar Grotto, only two guards stood at the entrance. One was Wolf, who wore sandals and his seaweed cloak. The other guard was an imga who growled and stuck out his chest when the Orc and Buren approached. Wolf put a hand on the imga's shoulder, "Peace Barouk. They are friends. This is the one I've told you about, Hammer."<p>

The imga gave the Orc a grunt and nodded, "My name is Barouk. Good to meet you." The his voice was guttural and deep and the black fur that covered his body was wiry and thick. He wore only a belt, two machetes, and an eye patch. He had a large scar on his chest from what looked like a strike from a large blade.

The Orc nodded back, "Good to meet you." he gestured to Buren who nodded as well, "This is my friend Buren. We've come to sell things and have some drinks."

Barouk laughed, which sounded more like a guttural roar, "I like this one. Let's go inside and get drunk."

As the group walked inside the grotto, the Orc examined the imga. He had only ever seen one in his life. Barouk was tall and powerful, but despite his massive frame, he managed to stand straight. It was interesting that he wore on his hips. Normally they were used for cutting through foliage. Typically imga did not make good pirates, mainly because they could not swim. However, imga were terrifying and could be deadly in battle. Why this one was here was a mystery to the Orc.

As he entered the cove, the Orc heard a loud voice giving a speech. He caught bits and pieces of the speech that sounded like "Rise up" and "Take what's ours."

When they entered the Ale bar, the Orc saw a large crowd gathered around a table. On top of the table stood a breton woman with fair pink skin and wavy brown hair. She wore slim fitting fur armor and a large pistol on her hip.

"We've hidden from the empire long enough! It's time to crawl out of this rat hole and take what's ours!" The woman preached. A resounding cheer from the crowd was the response, accompanied by various calls of "Here here!" and, "Death to the empire!"

All of the sudden, a loud shot silenced the crowd. Everyone turned to captain Blackmane who now stood on the adjacent table and held his smoking pistol high in the air. He blew off the smoke from the barrel and slipped the gun back onto his chest, "Now then. I agree with this fair lass. We deserve to rise up and take what we want. But I ask ye… do ya remember Volf Goldheart?"A general murmur emanated from the crowd and Blackmane continued.

"Our dear Volf took what was his and made himself a hero! But can anyone tell me where our dear Volf is now?" The crowd was silent as a grave.

"That's right you stupid fucking sods, Volf's dead! Burnt to a crisp and shot full of arrows! So go ahead, listen to this crazy bitch, you might even become a hero like Volf. But keep in mind, your death will be for nothin. You'll have fought and died for no reason other than the fact that this woman got you riled up." Blackmane's singed beard smoked and sizzled. He sat down and took a swig out of a bottle, "Now go back to yer drinks, all of ye. Someday it'll be our time to hoist up the black flag, but not today."

The woman still stood on the table, furious as the crowd she had accumulated dispersed. She glanced over at Barouk and whistled. He immediately trotted over to her and helped her down from the table, "It was a good try captain Mary." He muttered.

The woman gave one last glare to Blackmane and stormed off. Barouk looked back at the bar longingly, but dutifully followed Mary out.

Wolf and the Orc sat down at the table where Blackmane was enjoying his drink. Two of Blackmane's crewmen stood on either side of him, armed with muskets.

"What's with the bodyguards?" The Orc asked, "Is that lass givin you trouble?"

Blackmane put down his bottle, "That woman has been a thorn in my foot for the last week Hammer. The way she riles these pirates up, gets them going… it's like nothin you've ever seen." The Kajiit tugged his mane in thought, "Captain Marian. New girl. Says she's got six schooners and a galleon in her fleet. Want's to take arms against the empire."

"Didn't we already do that? That's why we're called pirates after all."

"No no, she wants to do something big, something radical like Volf. She wants to take Solitude."

The Orc was astonished, "Of course we can take the city, it's never been about that. If we took it, we couldn't keep it."

"I know!" Blackmane tossed the bottle he was drinking from and it shattered into pieces, "It would be just like Anvil all over again. The imperials have chosen to ignore us for years and that's why we've grown strong. Mariam has the right ideals, but we're not ready yet."

Buren piped in before the Orc could stop him, "Well when will you be ready?"

Blackmane made a growl that sounded like a sabre cat and glared daggers at Buren, "And who might this be?"

"He's a friend." The Orc quickly answered, "A dear friend of mine."

Buren ignored the Orc, "I'm just saying, if you keep telling yourself you're not ready then you'll never be ready. You need to listen to Mariam and give it a shot. Isn't the pirate way of life about doing what you want'?" The Orc facepalmed and Wolf cleared his throat uncomfortably.

Blackmane stood slowly and flexed his fingers, "And who are you to tell me what I should do?" Blackmane's bodyguards took a few nervous steps backwards, "You see, the empire is quite large and has quite a few ships, correct?"

Buren nodded, "True."

Blackmane nodded and continued as he paced back and forth, "We are small and do not have as many ships, correct?"

Buren nodded again.

"And if a big guy comes after a small guy, what would happen?" Blackmane asked mockingly. Buren didn't respond, the question was rhetorical, "The big guy beats the little guy until he's dead!" In his rage, Blackmane kicked his chair aside, "Get it you fucking moron!? If we attack, we'll get beat! It's really quite easy to figure out!"

Buren smiled and pulled out a piece of paper and put it on the table, "Not if you have some of these."

Blackmane snatched the flier off the table and opened it up. On the sheet of paper was Azarain's ad and the sketch of the cannon. Blackmane's temper cooled almost immediately. He looked up from the paper and scrutinized Buren, "Grab a chair my friend and sit down! Tell me what this lovely looking weapon the Tinker has designed is."

* * *

><p>After a good hour of talking, drinking, and nearly fighting, Blackmane purchased nearly forty two guns for his ship. Several other captains, whose crewmates had overheard the conversation, had come to discuss business as well. In response to the new flow of business, Buren used the table as a makeshift desk where he conducted the deals.<p>

"Where's the rest of the Harties?" The Orc asked Blackmane as they drank at the bar.

"Anna is busy worshiping Dibella in the upstairs bedrooms. Cassius and Tristan are out pillaging villages and stealing ships. Recently we've been tryin to increase the total amount of 'Pirate' ships we have altogether."

The Orc nodded, "How many do we have?"

"Sixty three, counting the four that Tristan and Cassius are using." Blackmane took a quick sip of his rum, "Strike that. Seventy two counting the ships Mariam brought with her."

"That's quite a sum. I've never heard of this Captain Mariam. Where's she from?"

"Nobody knows fer sure." I heard she had somethin to do with the war in Valenwood."

"Really?" The Orc looked back at Buren, "Now that would be interesting."

"It also explains why she has a damned imga on her crew." Blackmane laughed.

The war in Valenwood was neither orderly nor short. Ever since the Valenwood government was overthrown by the Thalmor in 4E 29, there had been conflict. At first it started with unruly citizens and politicians before the war who were quickly silenced by Thalmor agents. It took nearly a century for a In the worst part of it, radical groups and extremists banned together in what seemed like an organized military force. In mere months, they had taken over most of Valenwood. However, after the makeshift army had seemingly succeeded in its insurrection, the groups began to fight among one another. When the conflict finally died down, Valenwood was divided into multiple separate provinces that were constantly changing. Every group seemed to have a nation or territory. The old Valenwood government, kajiit assassins, imga who supported the Thalmor, imga who hated the Thalmor, bandit warlords, even pirates had a small territory.

There was also word of conflict brewing in eastern Hammerfell.

After reiterating the recent conflicts of other countries, Anna the Kiss came downstairs. Despite her recent strenuous activity, she did not seem flushed or even tired for that matter. She was dressed in a short, purple dress and black boots. Her scarlet hair was perfect and tied with a ribbon. All in all, she was looking great "Hey boys! What's goin on here?"

The Orc tossed her a bottle of rum which she caught and drank.

"Well who's that?" she asked, pointing to Buren's sales operation.

"That one's a friend of Hammer. He's selling a big gun. Big enough to blow a hole in an imperial ship!"

"Really? What's the price?"

"Over two thousand each." Blackmane grumbled, "I nearly spent my entire savings on those damned things."

"Ooh," Anna cringed, "I'll have to butter him up a bit. Is he handsome?"

Blackmane grinned, "Why yes, yes he is. Quite the charmer indeed."

The Orc's eyes widened in surprise and he almost told Anna about Buren's scars, "Actually he-" The Orc was cut off as Blackmane's claws stuck themselves in the Orc's wrist. The Orc bit his knuckle in pain and took a quick swig of his drink.

"As I was saying, you should introduce yourself and perhaps take him to the upstairs room?" Blackmane suggested.

Anna grinned, "What an idea Verjaq! I'll go freshen up." And with that, she skipped off to restroom.

Blackmane released his grip on the Orc who let out a groan, "What the fuck! You've seen the scars on Buren's face. Why didn't you tell Anna!?"

The cat chuckled and pulled an ebony pipe from his breast pocket. He put a bag of moonsugar and cannis root on the counter and sprinkled a pinch inside the bowl of the pipe. When he lit the pipe, it released a haze of blue, sweet-smelling smoke, "Because that crippled orc needs to learn about the way things are here." He drew a deep puff from the pipe and exhaled it in a small cloud of blue smoke, "And the way things are, is that you don't fuck with me. Now if you go over there and alert your friend, I'll have to teach him in some other way. Understand?"

The Orc grimaced, "Yeah I get it asshole."

Blackmane nodded as he inhaled the drug in his pipe. The smoke drifted out in between his teeth as he spoke, "It's one of the requirements for being a pirate. You know that Hammer. You know it well. It's what Captain Morgan taught you."

The Orc glanced at Blackmane's sack on the counter, "I can't believe you smoke that shit. It'll kill you."

Blackmane laughed and slapped his knee causing him to almost fall out of his chair. He quickly regained his balance and shushed the Orc as he pointed to Anna who had come out of the bathroom.

By then, the line of buyers had died down and Buren was finishing his last couple transactions.

After the buyers left and Buren was writing the last few orders down, Anna strode up to the table, "Hey there big boy, how much for one of those… thingies?" she said in a sweet voice.

"Two thousand each," Buren stated without looking up from his paper, "We only one model so far, but we're bound to have a few different kinds for sale in a month or two."

"Oh that won't do." Anna pouted, "How about we go somewhere a little more comfortable and work something out?"

Buren paused as he dipped his pen in an inkwell. He looked up at Anna and they were both shocked. Buren, because a beautiful woman had just asked to make love to him, and Anna, because she saw his scarred face.

Upon seeing her reaction, Buren realized that his eagerness was a mistake. He was damaged goods and that's all he was ever going to be. Too ashamed to speak, he quickly gathered up his things and left.

Anna almost stopped him as he was walking out. Immediately after he left, she turned to Blackmane with fire in her eyes. He coughed out a whoop of laughter as Anna stormed towards him.

"What the fuck was that!? Why didn't you tell me!?"

Blackmane wiped a tear from his eye, "Did you see the look on his face lass? That'll show im! Hahahahaha!"

Anna drew her hand back and for the first time, someone dared to slap Captain Verjaq Blackmane.

At first he didn't respond in the slightest. But as his face slowly contorted and his pupils shrank, the Orc realized the extent of his rage.

Before Blackmane could claw Anna's eyes out, the Orc grabbed his wrists from behind and put him in a headlock.

Blackmane kicked his stool over and struggled in the Orc's grip, "You bitch! I'll get you for that, do you hear me!?"

Despite Blackmane's terrifying display of aggression, she stood unmoving, "Shame on you Verjaq. What if you were burned and hurt? What if that happened to you?" She put her mouth close to his ear and whispered so that only he could hear, "I know why you use fire to terrify your enemies Verjaq. You're afraid of it."

Blackmane's struggling ceased and the Orc let him go. Verjaq's temper was red hot and quick to ignite, but when he calmed down there was usually nothing to fear. Usually.

For a moment, they just stood there staring. Verjaq inches away from Anna's face and Anna inches away from his. After a minute Blackmane turned and strode out of the bar.

Anna and the Orc sat down at the bar and finished their drinks. "So what are you gonna do now?" the Orc asked, "Fix it up with Verjaq?"

"No." Anna answered after a minute, "What was your friend's name again? The one with the burns."

The Orc raised his brow, "Buren. Why?"

Anna looked sad, "He's not ugly you know. I was just shocked." She gently placed her bottle on the counter and stood, "I'm going to go find him and apologize." She paused at the entrance of the bar, "And see if he still wants to 'negotiate' a price." she added with a smile.

The Orc chuckled and ordered another drink. Anna was always exceptionally charming.

* * *

><p>"Well well well! I told you to come back soon and you did not disappoint!" Tristan shouted to the Orc when he and Cassius entered the bar.<p>

Cassius smiled and gave a nod, "Welcome back."

The Orc slammed down his drink and stood to greet his friends, "Tristan! Cassius! Why have you come back so soon?" He swayed a bit, suddenly feeling the effects of the last few drinks.

Although pirates are not usually known for their goodbyes, they are notorious for their outstanding hellos. The three Harties agreed to play liar's dice in the casino, a game that originated from Elsweyr.

Tristan the Gent was by far the best liars dice player the Orc had ever seen and won sixty gold in three minutes. However, as good as Tristan was, he claimed that there was one who was even better than himself, "He was a Khajiit who called himself M'aiq the liar. Always wore a monk's robe. Seemed a bit crazy to me, always rambling about nonsense, but he sure played one hell of a game."

After earning close to a thousand gold between the three of them, the three Harties bought drinks for everyone.

After awhile, Barouk lumbered back to the bar. The Orc began to introduce him to Cassius and Tristan, but they already knew him.

"His ship docked in just after you left Hammer." Cassius admitted.

"He can hold down his drink and take a good hit." Tristan praised, "I offered him a spot on my ship, but the bastard wouldn't take it."

"You know it wasn't like that Tristan." Barouk interjected, "Captain Mary and I have old ties, I couldn't leave her crew."

Tristan waved his hand, "Yes yes, all that blimey shit. You should do what you want in life. That's what it's about."

"Well what I really want is some more drinks!" Barouk said, changing the subject, "Yasha!" He yelled to the barmaid as he slapped down a large sack of coins, "One more round for everyone on me!" A resounding cheer echoed through the cove.

Despite the merriment that ensued, Cassius was not satisfied with Barouk's answers, "So, why exactly are you here Barouk? Have you come from Valenwood?"

"Yes I have. I knew nothing but the dense jungle and mountains until I was fourteen years of age." the imga bit off the cork of a large bottle of Argonian bloodwine, "Through a long series of events, I came into Mariam's service."

Cassius was about to protest the vague answer, but Tristan silenced him with a pat on the back, "Peace Cassius. It's not uncommon for a pirate to have a past he doesn't want to talk about." Cassius glared at Tristan, but he shrugged it off.

After half a drink, the Orc realized that he no longer had the urge to get drunk. So he finished his mug and slapped it down on the counter. The Orc stayed around the bar for awhile and watched the pirates come in for the nightly rush. Tristan's etiquette had disappeared after the first few sips and Cassius' cold temperament seemed to melt away. He also noticed that as Barouk got drunk, he began to hunch slightly and walk on his knuckles. The Orc wondered why Barouk always walked completely upright if this was his natural posture.

After awhile, the Orc ran out of distractions and his sorrow started to creep back in. To relieve his mind, he walked out to the main hall. A starry night sky shone into the cove from the open roof of the main room. In Pirate cove, the cold winds of Skyrim seemed nonexistent. The cove felt warm and humid even at night. The stone pathways that snaked through the cove were covered in foreign greenery that pirates sometimes brought back from journeys; palm trees, moon sugar canes, avocado plants, even banana trees. In some parts of the cove, foreign animals that pirates had taken ran free.

As the Orc stopped at a fork in the road, a small monkey trotted over to him and pulled on his pant leg. The Orc reached down and snatched the small primate up. He was a cute little bugger with tan fur and big eyes. The Orc almost considered keeping the monkey until it big his finger and scurried away hooting. He sucked on his bleeding index and walked down to the docks.

All the ships in the cove sat either in Broken oar grotto, or the main room docks. A large watery tunnel connected the two, but the main room docks was much bigger and Jaree-Ra did a terrible job of watching the ships in the grotto.

All of the Harties' ships sat at the docks. Howl-of-the-Wolf's Marie Elena still stood tall and powerful, even though it was the oldest ship in the cove. Anna the Kiss had renamed her ship The Lady's Rose when she came back from the temple of Dibella in Markarth. Although Anna's change was significant when she returned, she never told any of the Harties what happened to her in the temple. Tristan guessed that it was a massive orgy in the name of Dibella but when he suggested the possibility, Anna smacked him.

Cassius still kept his imperial warship, The Hand of the Emperor, in prime condition. Its sails were clean and well kept, its decks were scrubbed clean, and its black paint job was without a single chip. In fact, the only thing that was different about Cassius' ship was the empire banners had been reversed in color so that the dragon symbol was red and the flag was black. A black flag with a red skull and crossbones had also been raised above the highest crow's nest.

Tristan had lost his original ship, The Jarl of the Sea within a few weeks of being captain. However his new vessel, the Rapier, seemed well enough to his liking. It was a bit small and slender like a rapier, but it was well furnished and proper. However the real feature that Tristan liked was the enormous ram at the front. With a quick strike, that ram could take out almost any ship it hit.

The most modified ship in the cove however was Blackmane's. He had lost the ship he inherited from Captain Hook in just three days. Even quicker than Tristan lost his ship. Blackmane had attempted to take an entire imperial convoy with one ship and nearly succeeded. All of his crew members and his ship were completely obliterated. Since then, Blackmane had gone through four ships and had accumulated a massive sum of plunder. Despite the fact that he spent most of it on moon sugar, rum, and gambling, Blackmane's success was a goal that most pirates aspired to imitate.

The Orc walked onto Blackmane's ship, Queen Potema's revenge. Blackmane sat alone in the dark with his pipe and a few smashed bottles playing chess with himself. The Orc stopped at the chess table and examined the pieces, "Quite a game you've got going."

Blackmane took a long puff from his pipe and moved his pawn forwards, "The bastard's beating me."

The Orc chuckled dryly and they were both silent for awhile. Blackmane lit a match and held it under the palm of his hand. After minute his eye began to twitch and he tossed the match overboard. Blackmane sat in a silent grimace for a moment and then, all of the sudden he swatted the chess pieces off of the table and smashed the wine bottle he was holding.

"Gods damn it Verjaq! That was an expensive chess set." The Orc complained, caught off guard by Blackmane's sudden outrage.

"Shove it Hammer." Blackmane spat, "That bitch Anna, she makes a fire burn in me. Makes me feel helpless, like I'm some damned kitten. Afraid of fire, ha! I might just burn down her damn ship. Show her how much I'm afraid of fire!" Blackmane slammed his fist on the table, causing his so tip over his chair and fall down. The Orc bent to pick up, but Blackmane hissed and swatted at his hand, "Don't help me Hammer. I don't need anyone's help. I'm the deadliest pirate in this cove and I'm not afraid of damned fire!" He stood shakily and groped for the last unbroken wine bottle.

The Orc took the bottle before Blackmane could reach it, "You're drunk and angry Verjaq." He explained before Blackmane became angry, "Tell me, what happened the last time you were this mad at someone and this drunk."

Blackmane shuffled his feet and looked at the ground, "I killed the bastard."

"You just killed him?" The Orc pressed.

Blackmane groaned and rolled his eyes, "Alright alright, I poked him full of holes, lit him on fire, and cut off his head with a butcher knife."

"Exactly. Now do you want this to happen to Anna?"

Blackmane shook his head, "No no, she's just so… ugh!"

"Alright, then quit drinking and cool off." The Orc gripped Blackmane on the shoulder, "Were not a bunch of drunken fighting louts, we're the Harties and we stick together in a world that hates us, remember?"

Verjaq Blackmane nodded, "Yes of course I remember. Just don't try make me apologize."

The Orc laughed and gave him a pat, "I wouldn't dare try to make you apologize to anyone."

* * *

><p>Hey guys! Holy shit this is getting long. Almost put in a lemon between Anna and Buren just to spice things up.<p>

I know I know, it's getting boring. But stick with, we're about half way through and (spoiler) some Major shit is gonna go down in the next chapter.

Stay tuned. Comment likes and concerns. Enjoy.


	9. Hidden Blades

**Chapter Nine**: Hidden Blades

That morning, for the first time in awhile, the Orc was not hungover at all. A dull aching pain still echoed in his stomach, but it wasn't from anything he ate. The Orc rubbed his eyes and hopped out of the bed he was sleeping in. Late last night, Blackmane had gone down to the Ale Bar to find Tristan and Cassius. The Orc however had stayed behind and fallen asleep in Blackmane's ship. Later that night, the Harties had come back to the ship to sleep.

Recently, Blackmane had redecorated the ship. The entire hull was painted black and gray and adorned with bones and skulls. Image was everything after all. Blackmane had recently expounded his idea for killing a giant and using its skeleton as his figurehead.

The Orc reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the doll his daughter Shel had made. It was a misshapen little thing with buggy red eyes and lumpy green skin, but Shel had loved it and took it everywhere. The dull throb from missing his family worsened, but he shook it off. The Orc gave the doll a quick peck on its forehead and tucked it safely back into his breast pocket.

Upon exiting the bowels of the ship, the Orc noticed that the Harties, except for Anna, had gotten up earlier than he had despite their obvious hangovers. They sat on the deck of the Queen Potema's Revenge. All of them, except Howl-of-the-Wolf, had a "potion of resist hangover" in their hand, but even he looked tired and pale.

"Well well, looks like you guys had a fun night without me!" The Orc laughed, "Why are you mates up so early? Its only nine o'clock."

Verjaq Blackmane's face was covered by a cold towel and his smoking pipe stuck out from underneath. He slowly reached up to his face and pulled off the towel, blowing some smoke as he did so, "Because despite the unsavory state we're in, we have business to discuss." The rest of the Harties nodded in agreement.

The Orc frowned. Anything that could get a hungover pirate out of bed early must have been important, so he grabbed a chair and sat down, "What's going on?"

Tristan spoke up first, "This Captain Mariam is gaining support in the cove. With your friend Buren selling those cannons, the pirates already feel like they're invincible. Mariam is trying to that feeling into action."

"She's going to drive us into the ground." Cassius agreed, "The Pirates are a magnificent fighting force, we have but we don't have the resources. Just over seventy two ships, most of them tiny schooners. If the Imperial Fleet or, dare I say, the Thalmor Armada came down here, we'd be finished for good. A few big fancy guns won't stop a thousand dominion soldiers from rushing into the cove."

Howl-of-the-Wolf nodded, "Even men such as us, with guns and ships and cannons, cannot defeat an army so vast."

The Orc nodded, "What's a solution?" The Harties were silent for a minute.

"We could kill her." Blackmane offered.

"No." Wolf refuted quickly, "She holds the ideas of our code and we will not kill her. Besides, her support base is too large in the cove. It would end up badly for us."

"Bah!" Blackmane blew a spray of indigo smoke, "I know she holds good ideals. But I on the other hand want to live for a bit longer. We need a plan to make a major assault, not an angry mob!"

"Perhaps I could persuade her to hold off for a bit longer." Tristan suggested, "I could put my moves on her." His eyebrow arched seductively and all of the Harties laughed.

"You couldn't seduce a horny wench on a full moons night!" Blackmane taunted, "Not since you got that lovely burn on your face."

Tristan frowned and tenderly touched the right side of his face. It wasn't a horrible burn, but it was certainly a bad one. Despite the fact that the injury had been inflicted years ago, Tristan's skin was still pink and warped, much like Buren's. He used to be handsome, till he took a firebolt to the face. Now the right side of his mouth was in a slight upward slant, almost like a sadistic grin. His right eye's iris had turned from its sky blue color to a dark reddish brown. Fortunately his brown hair was left intact so he grew it out and styled it to cover up most of his eye.

"Not true!" Tristan protested, "I had a girl just last week!"

"Whores don't count Tristan." Blackmane chuckled as he took another swig of his potion, "We're getting off topic. How do we stop the bitch?"

The Orc pressed a knuckle to his lips and thought for a minute, "If somehow we were able to stay alive, would we agree with Mariam's cause?"

The Harties all nodded, "Yes." Howl-of-the-Wolf admitted, "Her ideals are of pure Pirate intentions. If we had the means to pull off a successful, large scale attack without being obliterated, we would back Mariam in her plight."

"Agreed." Cassius nodded, "I propose that we confront Mariam with a proposal." He paused for effect, "We should tell Mariam that if she gains the means to carry out a sustainable capture of an Imperial territory, without significant danger of annihilation, then we will support her."

Blackmane chuckled, "I agree with this course of action."

"As do I." Tristan agreed. Cassius and Wolf nodded.

"I agree as well." Anna said a she swaggered up to the deck of the ship.

The Orc whistled, "Well well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes. How did last night go?"

Anna giggled, "He was actually quite good. We couldn't do a position standing up because of his legs, but he sure knows how to work what he's got."

Blackmane hissed, "I didn't want to know."

The Orc laughed, "I was referring to buying a cannon."

"Oh." Anna blushed, "I bought six for a special discount."

"What a shocker." Tristan shook his head.

"Now then, are we all in agreeance?" Cassius prompted.

"Aye!" Shouted all the Harties.

"Good then. I'll talk to Captain Mariam tonight." He cleared his throat, "Now are there any other orders of business?"

"Aye." Tristan raised his hand and stood. He wobbled a bit at first but managed to keep his balance, "I move to make Barouk a member of the Harties."

The reaction was immediately conflicted. Wolf and Cassius nodded while Blackmane hissed and Anna looked unsure.

Tristan continued his point, "Barouk has shown his valor and can hold his drink. He would be a boon to our group."

"Besides," Cassius stood as well, "He's on Mariam's crew. We need a man on the inside."

"Ha!" Blackmane interjected, "A man. That monkey is no man you sods. And about this talk about, 'someone on the inside' you can't trust this ape. His loyalty is to Captain Marriam, not us. If we decide as a group to put Mariam down, Barouk would rat us out in a second. Flay me alive if I'm wrong."

Howl-of-the-Wolf cleared his throat and stood. All others were silent, "I trust Barouk. He is a loyal friend and deadly seaman. Barouk holds a bond to Mariam not out of loyalty, but out of obligation. He will tell us his story when and if he is ready. In the meantime, I agree that he should be one of us."

Cassius nodded, "We should be wary for now, but Barouk has proved his worthiness. I concur."

"Barouk seems to be an honest mate." The Orc nodded.

"He certainly is charming." Anna piped in.

Everyone looked at her oddly, "Excuse me?" Blackmane raised his brow.

Anna Bit her lip, "I spent the night with Barouk a week ago, when Mariam's ship first arrived in the cove."

The Harites erupted into laughter, "By the Nine Anna." Tristan wiped a tear from his good eye, "Is there anyone you won't fuck?"

"I spread the word of Dibella to whoever I can." Anna smiled sweetly looking at Tristan with her doe eyes, "You would know, wouldn't you Tristan." She strode up to him and placed a soft hand on his chest, "There's no shame in spreading my faith, is there?" Tristan froze up as she placed a lingering kiss on his neck. Suddenly Anna pushed his chair over.  
>Tristan swore as he went down and furiously attempted to hoist himself up. The other Harties however howled in laughter. Some even fell out of their own chairs.<p>

Eventually Blackmane consented to let Buren join, with the condition that he be watched for any signs of disloyalty.

"Anything else?" Cassius asked.

"I have a request." The Orc said, "For all of you."

The Harties remained silent, listening.

"I haven't told you all why I returned to Skyrim." The Orc told the story to the Harties as they sat and listened. He told of his home and it's destruction. He spoke about his promise to his family and to Malacath. He spoke of his journey to Skyrim, his return to the cove, and his "I may need some help when I find Alduin. You don't need to and it might not help, but it would be nice to be able to call upon my friends when I find him. I may need some aid. Will you help me if need be?"

The Harties sat silent. Finally Tristan spoke up, "You said it might not help? I think you're right. How would we help against a dragon? We'd be throwin it all away for nothin."

The Orc nodded, "Anyone else?"

Cassius stood, "I agree with Tristan Hammer. It wouldn't do any good for us to come." They all nodded. Even Blackmane

Cowards, the Orc thought. As understandable as it was, the Orc was greatly disappointed by the Harties' lack of willingness to help him. They were probably right however, there was probably nothing a few extra louts could do against a dragon. Anyways, aside from Buren, those drunken louts were the closest thing the Orc had to a family left.

* * *

><p>When all was said and done, the Harties all went to the bar where Barouk usually hung around, so they could announce his initiation. Tristan made it a dramatic scene and pretended that it was an extremely serious membership. Barouk took it so seriously in fact, that Blackmane and the Orc almost couldn't hold back their laughter. Nevertheless, Barouk accepted the membership gladly and offered to buy everyone a drink. Surprisingly the Orc had not yet regained his craving for alcohol and politely turned down Barouk's offer for a second round. Instead, he went off to find Buren.<p>

Unsurprisingly, Buren was making more sales by the docks. He had a small table covered in papers and a few chairs. The Orc looked around. Nearly every pirate in the cove that wasn't sleeping or getting drunk lingered around Buren's makeshift desk, "Damn." The Orc scratched his head. Maybe Mariam had a point. Maybe if all the Pirate ships in the cove were equipped with cannons, just maybe they could stand against an invading fleet.

As the Orc made his way to the crowd that encircled Buren's desk, he noticed that a large portion of the mob was made up of Mariam's crew. Mariam herself stood at the table, directly across from Buren.

"I don't care how deadly they are or how rare. Two thousand five hundred gold each is too much!" Mariam spat at Buren with malicious look, "I'm not leaving this desk until you get me a better deal."

Buren, seemingly unfazed by her angry outburst, continued to scribble on his sales chart. Without looking up he said, "Then I'm afraid you'll be here for quite awhile Mrs. Mariam. Two thousand five hundred gold. No exceptions."

The Orc covered his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. According to Anna, Buren had given her quite the discount.

Mariam gripped the sides of the table and glared at Buren as he continued to write on his chart, occasionally dipping his pen in an inkwell. A large hooded man that was standing behind Mariam suddenly took a step forward, as if to confront Buren.

However before the man could act, Mariam put a hand on his chest, stopping him, "Don't." She whispered.

The man growled, literally like a tiger, but consented and stormed off. After a moment, Mariam groaned and gave in, "Fine. I need fifteen mounted cannons for each of my ships."

Buren looked up at Mariam with a wide, cocky grin. His misty eyes staring at her, "Excellent!"

As the mass of buyers slowly went away, the Orc passed the time by feeding the local animals. A few bantam guars and scuttlers gathered around his feet and nipped at some pieces of dried meat. All of the sudden, the monkey that bit the Orc the previous night leaped at the group. The rest of the animals immediately scattered. The aggressive monkey snached whatever food it could and leapt away hooting. The Orc shook his head, "Feisty little bastard."

Buren finished his transactions shortly and called over the Orc, "Time to go Nat. Nearly every pirate in the cove ordered cannons. Azarain and I will be working for weeks on end."

The Orc was sad to go so soon, but he understood. Besides, his mission was starting to take too long anyway.

Buren and the Orc headed over to the bar to say goodbye to the Harties, since that seemed to be the only place they ever hung out. However, surprisingly the ale bar was nearly empty. Only a few lonely mates sat around and drank, Squall, who was passed out at the bar, and Yasha the barmaid.

The Orc lumbered over to the bar and leaned over the counter. Yasha had her back turned so he gave her ass a pinch. She made a peep and whipped around with a grin.

"Hey cutie. Watcha doin?" She asked

The Orc gave her a grin, "Where is everyone?"

Yasha's lips curved into a thinking look, "I think everyone's at the pit fights down by the cave."

The Pit had been the only space in the cove carved out by the pirates. Originally a deep mining shaft was dug into the grotto because some pirates thought the cave would be filled with gold. After years of digging and no profit, the new "Pit" looked like an ugly scar compared to the rest of the cove. The Harties, Blackmane in particular, had decided to make use of the pit and transformed it into a prison/ execution spot. The Pit spiraled deeper into the earth and opened up to a large chasm. Individual cells lined the walls, but the center of the large chasm was left open. Any time someone needed to die in a dramatic way, they would be thrown into the bottom of the Pit and fight to the death with whatever was thrown down with them. Apparently, one such event was happening at the time.

The crowd cheered from the safety of their benches on the sidelines. In the Pit, several imperial sailors were fighting for their lives against a horde of skeevers. Blackmane had made his own viewing stand for himself and others to watch the sport, complete with a throne for himself and tables and chairs for others.

The imperials were proving to be quite resourceful in their battle, arming themselves with rocks and broken bottles that were strewn all over the pit floor. Despite this, they had only managed to kill a few skeevers while nearly three dozen remained. The fight would be over shortly.

The Orc strode towards the stand where Blackmane and the other Harties sat. Buren lurched after him, having trouble with the uneasy terrain of the Pit.

"Mates!" The Orc called out, "I've come to tell you that I'm off."

Wolf quickly shushed the Orc and ushered him over towards the stand. Blackmane, as always, was smugly enjoying himself. He gently pulled at his mane as he looked on the fight. Barouk however seemed to enjoy the fight even more. He hopped up and down, hooting each time an imperial swung at a skeever.

Without looking at him, Blackmane waved the Orc over beside him, "So you're leavin again eh? I figured you'd leave soon. Before you leave, stay for this next round. It'll knock you on your ass."

The Orc consented. Blackmane usually did this when he was hosting a fight in the Pit. He would start it with a lax fight to get the crowd wanting more, then give them what they wanted.

The last of the imperials were finished off in seconds. Shortly after, the Pit was cleared of bodies and skeevers so that the next fight could continue.

Aside from execution, the pits had recently been used as a personal arena. If a pirate had a quarrel with another pirate that could not be resolved by a few drinks, which often happened, they challenged each other to a duel. The Pit was a place in which their quarrel could be observed. All they had to do was pay Blackmane a measly ten gold to observe the entertainment.

Another purpose the pits could serve, that was rarely used, was that of a proving ground. If a pirate wanted to fight against something or someone to the death in order to test himself, he could do it in the pit.

In the pit, a large metal gate opened up. Out of the gate lumbered a being that the Orc had only seen a few times in his life.

The minotaur roared and clopped around the pit. It was dressed only in a simple loincloth and wielded a wooden club. After a few seconds it paused in the middle of the pit and stared at the other gate.

The gate in which the monster stared at began to open slowly. When the gate was fully raised the crowd went silent. The creature that stood against the massive minotaur was a small monkey. Not just any monkey, but the little shit that had bitten the Orc the other day.

"What in Oblivion is that!?" Buren exclaimed from behind the Orc.

The rest of the crowd shared Buren's shock and confusion. Even the minotaur hesitated to confront the small primate and scratched his head.

Eventually, the minotaur got over his confusion and stomped over to the monkey. He raised his foot, preparing to squish it. At the last moment, the monkey rolled out of the way of the incoming stomp.

Furious, the minotaur chased the monkey around the floor of the pit until it grew too tired to continue. The crowd laughed and jeered at the scene. The Orc looked at Blackmane questioningly, but the cat simply raised his hand and stared at the fight intently.

After a few seconds more the minotaur seemed to lose interest in the monkey and gave up on chasing him. At that moment, the monkey stopped running in circles and ran back towards the entrance

A new figure stood at the entrance to the Pit, the giant hooded man from Buren's booth earlier that day. The man was dressed in leather that was trimmed with orange and black striped furs. His dark hood covered his face and he stood nearly eight feet tall. The man extended his arm and the monkey leapt on to his shoulder.

The minotaur had taken notice of this and promptly roared and charged at the man. Just as the beast was about to smash into him, the figure delivered a front kick to the minotaur's stomach. This sent the minotaur flying away. The monkey on his shoulder cackled and clapped its hands.

The man stepped into the middle of the arena and pulled back his hood. Shock erupted from the crowd. The giant man had the face of a tiger. His eyes were large and yellow and his fur was a vibrant orange and black. The tiger man pulled out a large wooden staff that he wore on his back. He swung it in a figure eight motion and stood in a staunch fighting stance.

The Orc stared at the man, then turned to Blackmane, "Who is that!?"

Blackmane chuckled, "That is Captain Mariam's quartermaster, Jonathan. John for short. He's a Ka Po' Tun, a tiger-man from Akavir."

"His name in Jonathan?"

Blackmane scratched his chin, "Well no. His real name is too hard to pronounce... or remember. Somethin like Rujak Saadr somethin. I dunno."

Just then, the minotaur was back on its feet. It swung the wooden club around its head and ran at John again. Fast as lightning, John jabbed at the minotaur's eyes, causing it to stagger blindly. He then spun the staff around and swept the creature off its feet. The crowd roared in approval.

John could've killed the minotaur right then with a well placed stomp to the head, but that would've been too quick. Instead, he backed away from the downed minotaur and tossed away his staff.

Everyone gasped. Surely the man was doomed without his weapon. Even the minotaur looked mildly confused. Nevertheless, the creature charged at John, once again spinning the club over its head.

Blackmane laughed and pounded his fist on the throne, "Now it's a fight!" He roared.

Just as the creature brought its club down towards John's head, it was disarmed by a quick strike to its wrist.

"Now we're equals." John growled and slugged the monster in the stomach. The minotaur doubled over and its face was met by John's knee. The creature flew back, landing heavily on its ass.

John squatted close to the ground and leapt high into the air. For a moment everything seemed still. The crowd grew silent, John paused in the air, the minotaur was still dazed. Then everything happened very quickly. John's claws came out as he landed on the minotaur, promptly slashing its throat open.

As the monster was dying, it cried out and tried to scramble away. John swiped the wooden club from the ground and brutally bashed its head in with a roar.

The crowd erupted into a symphony of surprised cries. Shots fired in the air. Barouk hooted and beat his chest.

The Orc, Buren, and the rest of the Harties stood in shock, except for Blackmane. He merely took a long puff from his pipe and blew it from his grinning teeth.

After the match everyone went back to the Ale Bar. Blackmane was counting out his coin from all the bets he had won on the pit fight.

When it was announced that the Orc and Buren were leaving, there were short goodbyes from the Harties, "You'll be around yes?" Wolf asked.

The Orc gave him a smile, "I'll see you soon." And patted him on the back. Despite the promise, the Orc realized that this might be the last time he would see the Harties or the Cove.

On his way out, he gave the cove one final glance and left.

* * *

><p>There was no direct path to the cove, so Buren had some trouble getting back. It took them nearly two hours to arrive back at the sawmill across from Azarain's manor.<p>

"I need to invent some better leg supports." Buren groaned as he painfully lowered himself into the boat."

"Might be a good idea." The Orc lowered himself into the boat as well. He grabbed the oars but Buren swatted his hands away.

"My arms work fine. I'm not helpless."

The Orc raised his hands in compliance and let Buren row.

The lights in Azarain's house glowed warmly and smoke drifted from the chimney.

"Hmm. That's unusual." Buren commented as he looked at the manor.

"What?"

"Azarain is usually tinkering around in the workshop or basement or performing experiments in his enchanting room. He's never in the kitchen unless he has guests."

"Maybe he's expecting us back?" The Orc offered.

"Maybe." Buren frowned.

The boat gently bumped against the dock and the two orcs stepped out of the boat. Immediately, Azarain stepped out of the house to meet the two of them. He was dressed in full formal garb. Wearing a black and white suit of some kind with a small bow tied on his neck. He wore a strange pair of thin, black goggles.

"Boys! Welcome back. You like my shades?" He handed the two of them each glasses of champagne, "I have some guests inside who are interested in making quite a few purchases. Come come, you two should meet them!"

Inside the east wing kitchen sat two nords. An old man with a grey beard who was wearing a worn white tunic and a woman who wore leather armor and whose face was covered by a large brown hood. The woman eyed an automation butler untrustingly as it prepared lunch for her. The man seemed more at ease. He closely inspected Azarain's golden birdcages with wonder. Interestingly enough, the man bore an ebony dagger and the woman had a sleek katana strapped to her side.

Buren limped over towards the woman, leaning heavily on his staff, "Welcome to the Moors manor. I'm Buren gro- Gash Murug, you can call me Buren. It's very nice to meet you." Buren extended his hand but the woman didn't shake it.

"Lets get down to business shall we?"

Buren lowered the hand and nodded, "Understandable. What would you be interested in buying?"

"Anything that can kill a dragon."

The Orc choked on the champagne he was drinking which invoked a fit of coughing. When he finally recovered, the Orc realized that he had gained the attention of everyone in the room. He put the glass down, "You want to kill a dragon?"

The woman stared at him intensely as her hand brushed the hilt of her sword, "Yes we do. What of it?"

"What makes you think that you're capable of killing a dragon." The Orc inquired suspiciously. After all, these could be a couple of nutjobs on skooma.

"Well originally, the prophecy says that, 'when the world eater wakes, the wheel will turn upon the last dragonborn.' Except there is no dragonborn. So we're taking matters into our own hands.

"So… why do You think you can kill a dragon?" The Orc was sorry he asked almost immediately after he asked it. The woman went on a long, boring rant about how she and the old man were descended from dragon killing warriors and blah blah blah. About halfway through her story the Orc waived his hands in defeat, "Alright alright, you win. I believe you. But even if you could kill this dragon, how would you find it?"

The woman smiled, "Esbern! The dragonstone."

The old man still seemed entranced by the birdcages, "Hmm? Oh yes, of course!" Esbern plopped his large traveling sack on the kitchen table and pulled out a large, stone, slab with map-like carvings all over it. The woman pulled a map of Skyrim from the sack and set it nist to the slab on the table, "See here." She pointed to the map and then the stone, "They're the same map! The stone however has markings of all the ancient dragon burial sites." She gestured to large spots on the stone, "Now if you look at the map of recent dragon sightings," She referred back to the map which had red circles and exes drawn on it, "The path of the sightings is aligned with the dragon burial sites."

The old man flipped over the slab. On the back were tiny carvings that the Orc did not recognize, "Now if you read this, it says, 'Here lie our fallen Lords until power of Alduin revives.' Clearly this states that the resurrection of the dragons is imminent. The world eater has returned and the gods have not yet chosen a dragonborn to defeat him. Of course the dragonborn wouldn't know whether he was the dragonborn or not until he killed a dragon."

By this time nobody knew what the old man was babbling about. Even the woman seemed a bit confused, "Anyways," She diverted, "According to this map, the next attack is going to happen somewhere near Kynesgrove in about a day. We need a way to kill Alduin when he reaches there and rumor has it that you can help us with that."

Azarain raised a brow, "For a price of course."

The woman pulled out a large sack filled with various gems and dropped it on the table. Azarain's eyes grew as big as saucers behind his shades and he licked his lips, "Lets get started!"

The purchase didn't take long surprisingly. Fifteen harpoon launchers and three large cannons to the dragon once he was down, "For the sake of convenience, might I suggest you take my orcish friend with you?" Azarain suggested once the transaction was complete, "He's more than a capable companion and fighter. Besides, he wishes to slay Alduin as well. It would kill two birds in one stone if you succeeded."

The woman sized up the Orc, "Fine. But if you get in our way, you're dead Orc."

The Orc chuckled, "I was about to say the same to you."

Afterwards the woman insisted that she needed to be off as soon as possible, in order to "prevent the end of the world" or something. Azarain and Buren promptly led the group down to the cellar where the weapons were kept. Azarain had finished the last cannon for the Orc just after he and Buren left for the cove. Since that the Orc's transaction was nullified, the cannons and harpoons could go to the woman, leaving the Orc debt free.

When Delphine saw the size of the cannons, she realized that she would need to hire quite a few men to carry all three of them. When she related this to Azarain he happily suggested that she buy some automations to help carry the weapons. Since there seemed to be no other way to get the weapons even out of the basement, the woman grumpily consented. Azarain snapped his fingers and out of the wall popped six dwarven spheres who stood at attention. With some quick tampering, Azarain rewired the bots to obey and defend the woman. As a precaution, he always programmed secret loyalty to himself in the bot's hardware, just in case a client became angry or greedy and tried to attack Azarain with their new robotic servants.

The animunculi carried the heavy weapons with ease. Out of the basement with fifteen harpoon launchers in a wheelbarrow and three medium cannons held in the powerful arms of dwemer robots.

The woman announced that she and Esbern were leaving immediately for Kynesgrove. This meant that the Orc was leaving as well.

"It's not too late Nat," Buren urged, "You can stay, make the most of your life, and live well, for you are still a young Orc in his prime."

The Orc shook his head and clasped Buren on the shoulder, "I'll miss you too old friend." He said with a smile.

"If you do survive, come back." Azarain offered when the Orc was at the door, "You'd be welcome to stay any time, provided that you help me with a few things."

"You mean like a test dummy." The Orc corrected.

The Tinker smiled as he slid his shades back on, "Yeah pretty much. Want a drink before you go?"

The Orc shook his head, "Thanks, but I need to keep my senses clear." He was about to leave, but suddenly paused, "By the way, why do you call yourself the Tinker and not the Tinkerer?"

Azarain's smile dipped a little and he readjusted his glasses, "I'll tell you if you come back, deal?"

The Orc nodded and strapped his orcish helmet on. He tugged on the straps of the serrated ebony gauntlets and the quickblades to make sure they were secure. His father's warhammer was strapped securely on his back and on his hip two pistols sat in their holsters. Realistically the pistols wouldn't do too much against the dragon, but it would get his attention. Finally, the slender steel dagger still sat snug inside the Orc's boot. He was ready to go.


	10. One shot

**Chapter Ten**: Oneshot

The Orc blew into his palms and rubbed his hands together. The closer he got to Kynesgrove, the colder it became. Traveling across Skyrim was a pain in the ass. The Orc wondered whether Azarain could invent some way to travel across the country instantly. Now wouldn't that be convenient.

The old man, Esbern, used a heating spell to keep himself warm since he was dressed only in a plain shirt and trousers. The woman seemed unaffected by the cold as she marched down the stony, snow covered trail. Delphine was her name, Esbern had let it slip by mistake the other day. It must have been an odd sight for any onlookers, the three of them walking in a line, followed by dwarven automations hauling cannons and harpoon launchers.

The Orc almost wished that he could use magic to warm himself up, just as the old man did. Orcish armor could keep out a blow from a warhammer, but it couldn't keep out a cold gust of wind.

When the Orc was a young boy, living in Gol Heim, the wise woman of the tribe used to teach him a bit of magic. She always told him that he had much potential in the Arcane arts and that he could become a great mage if he really wanted to. Although it seemed like a decent prospect, the Orc knew that if he devoted himself to becoming a great mage, he would not become as powerful a warrior. Instead, he devoted his time to training in weapon combat, battlefield tactics, smithing, and other physical skills. Still, the Orc retained his grasp on the concept of magic. He could light a fire with his fingertips and block a weak spell if he focused hard enough. Even though it was not the path he chose, the Orc still maintained his respect for magic and kept his mind open.

"We're here." Delphine stated with a huff. A small inn sat alone among the trees and rocks. A creaky sign hung outside that read "Braidwood Inn."

"Finally!" Esbern groaned as he cracked his back, "My old bones almost gave out three miles past Morthal." The Orc slipped off his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair. Even he was beginning to tire, the massive warhammer on his back was getting heavier with every step."

Delphine pulled back her hood and searched the cloudy skies, "We don't have much time to set this up and we only have one shot at it once we do." She paused and pointed up past the inn, "The trail past the inn leads to an ancient dragon burial ground. If our calculations are correct, Alduin should be here to resurrect the dragon buried this afternoon, give or take a few hours."

"That's not accurate at all." The Orc criticized.

"Exactly. So lets get moving!" Delphine and Esbern quickly assessed the area and determined the best places in which to hide the cannons and harpoon launchers. Didn't seem too hard, after all trees and large boulders were everywhere. The Orc sat, sharpening his quickblades and cleaning his pistols. After an hour or so, the weapons and automations were hidden and ready to fire.

The Orc polished his warhammer as Delphine approached him, "You ready to go Orc? Alduin will be here soon."

The Orc rested the hammer on his lap, "What's the actual plan Delphine? This dragon is going to show up and we're just going to… kill him?"

Delphine's eyes slitted, "Yeah, that's the plan. Do you have a better one?" she asked placing her hands on her hips.

The Orc shook his head and looked down at his hammer, "Nope. I just hope that you realize that you're probably going to die."

The woman unsheathed her katana and pointed it at the Orc so that the blade's tip was only inches away from his face, "I am a Blade. Killing dragons is what I was born to to, got it?" she growled.

The Orc slowly put his helmet back on and stood. He towered over the woman, yet she remained unfazed and deadly. There was a brief moment of tension which was interrupted by a faraway roar coming from the sky, "Time to test that theory out." The Orc grinned and swung his hammer in a figure eight motion.

* * *

><p>Kynesgrove was completely silent. Everyone was hidden and at the ready. The harpoon launchers nailed to the ground, the cannons hidden by the brush, the automations ready to fire harpoons at the beast. Everything was ready.<p>

Alduin the World Eater swooped over the grove, scanning the area. After a minute he swooped close to the dragon burial site. Soon Sahloknir would rise again to aid him with world domination. Just as he was about to say the words that would destroy the burial site and bring his servant back to life, a harpoon shot through his shoulder. Alduin roared in pain and surprise. Almost immediately, three more harpoons embedded themselves into his flesh. Alduin crashed to the ground.

"He's down! Ready the cannons!" Delphine yelled.

"Fat chance, he's mine!" the Orc roared. He unsheathed both quickblades and charged towards the downed beast. The Orc sank both blades into Alduin's head, "That one is for my daughters!" The blades snapped off his wrists, so the Orc pulled out both pistols. With two deafening shots, he fired the pistols at Alduin's face, "That's for my sons!" The Orc threw away the empty guns and brought up his warhammer to smash the monster's life away, "And this is for my home."

Just as the Orc was about to deliver his killing blow, Alduin shouted three words.

_**Fus Ro Dah!**_

The Orc flew away like a leaf in a gust of wind. As he tumbled away, his father's hammer flew from his grip. For a moment as the Orc sailed away from the dragon, he became numb. He was weightless in the air. He had failed. Failed his children, failed his tribe, failed his father Malacath. He was going to die in shame without the revenge he deserved.

The Orc's body skipped once off of the ground and then slammed into a rock.

When the Orc awoke a few minutes later, he had double vision. After a while it cleared up, but a massive headache soon replaced it. The Orc tried to stand but was stopped by a sudden flash of throbbing pain in his leg. Both the upper and lower parts of his left femur were broken, as well as his kneecap. He felt his back tenderly. Sure enough, his right scapula was also broken.

He quickly snached a small stick off of the ground, put it inbetween his teeth, and bit down as he realigned his leg bones.

The Orc groaned and looked for something to help himself up. He looked left and saw his father's warhammer imbedded into the rock next to his head. If he had landed a few inches to the left, his skull would've been smashed to pieces.

The Orc gripped the hilt of the warhammer with his left arm and pulled himself up. Immediately he thought of poor Buren, broken and burned. Now they would be crippled together. Broken orcs.

As the Orc leaned heavily on the warhammer, he looked back from where he stood just minutes ago. The shout had thrown him nearly a quarter mile away. Black smoke bellowed from the inn. The entire place was covered in fire with Alduin nowhere to be found.

"No! Gods damned son of a Bitch!" the Orc cried. He pressed all his weight on the warhammers hilt and yanked it down. After a few tries, the rock cracked and the weapon sprung free. Throughout his adult life the Orc had kept that warhammer with him. Now he used it as a walking staff as he slowly made his way back to Kynesgrove.

Braidwood inn was completely engulfed in flames. It's inhabitants, if they had not been eaten by the dragon, were spread all over the ground, blackened to a crisp. Sadly, the blades shared their fate.

By the burial mound laid Esbern. The poor old man was charred and smoking, the ebony dagger molded into his clenched fist.

The Orc hobbled as quickly as he could towards Delphine who laid a few meters away. She still desperately clung to life. Her katana was missing along with her right arm. She gaped as the Orc limped over towards her, "I stabbed him right in the mouth, you should've seen it. Quick, help me up! I'll finish him off."

The Orc leaned on his hammer and looked around. Scattered pieces of dwemer robots were strewn all over the place. The cannons were smashed to pieces and the harpoons chains were all snapped. He looked back down at the fallen blade, "You're dying Delphine. Alduin is gone. We failed."

The woman shook her head, "No no, we can't fail." She began to flail on the ground. Her remaining hand gripped the Orc's ankle, "I… I'm not…" Delphine stared desperately at the Orc and suddenly she stopped struggling. Her blue eyes stared at the sky blankly and then dimmed.

The Orc lowered himself down with difficulty and closed Delphine's eyes. He briskly rummaged through her pockets and took her purse. Sixty gold would get him from Windhelm to Largashbur.

The cart ride was bumpy and painful. Every jerk of the wagon, and there were many, sent spine-tingling pain through the Orc's body. Before heading to the carriage, the Orc had limped into Windhelm. He sold his armor and ditched the quickblades. Nobody would know what they were, and if they figured it out, Azarain wouldn't be happy if someone else started making them. He bought a large hooded cloak after selling the armor. The only items he kept were his father's warhammer for a walking cane, his lucky knife, and of course his daughter's doll. After all, he wouldn't need anything else for what was about to happen.

The driver didn't complain too much when the Orc asked for a ride to the stronghold. After all, it was on the way to Riften, "Don't know why you're headed to this orcish place. Ain't nothin there worth seein." The driver called back as they rolled along the path.

The Orc remained silent with his hood down. When he had limped over to the cart outside of Windhelm, the driver had thought that he was some crazy old man. The Orc doubted that the driver knew he was an orc at all.

Later that afternoon the driver stopped at Heartwood Mill.

"What's this?" The Orc demanded, "I paid you to go to Largashbur, not some farm in the middle of nowhere."

The driver waved the Orc's comment off, "A few minutes won't kill ya. I always stop here to get a drink before I go to Riften." However as the driver was tying his horse up, it began to whinny and buck, "By Talos! What's wrong you stupid beast?" He yelled.

The Orc looked towards the farm and spotted a woman rushing out of the door. A large brown troll burst out of the doorway right behind the woman, chasing her. As she screamed for help, the driver froze in terror. The Orc rolled his eyes and painfully hopped off the carriage. He had always had a talent for taming trolls, but the Orc doubted he could help as he looked at the scene. A man laid in the front garden, torn to pieces. There was blood and entrails everywhere, including on the troll's mouth. There was no stopping a wild troll on a rampage. The Orc quietly slipped the steel knife from his boot.

The troll swept the woman's legs and she fell to the ground. It beat its chest and roared as she slowly attempted to crawl away. Just as the troll was about to devour the woman, the Orc made a high pitched whistle. The troll paused and spun around to look at the Orc. Fast as a bolt of lightning, the Orc launched the knife at the troll. The dagger embedded itself through the troll's third eye and into its skull. The troll made a quick gasping noise in the back of it's throat, spasmed, and fell on top of the crawling woman. The Orc facepalmed and trudged over towards the downed beast.

The woman started shrieking hysterically when the troll fell on her and continued to do so even after the Orc pulled the troll off of her. Finally the Orc gave her a slap and told her to shut up. The woman began to cry and ran off towards the carriage driver for support.

The Orc rolled the troll on it's back. It was a male, large for a regular forest troll. He pulled the dagger out of the troll's middle eye and closed the other two, "I'm sorry cousin." He whispered and gave the troll a pat on the head.

By tradition orcs used every part of their kills, no matter what beast it was. Troll pelts were used as insulation from the cold, organs used for rope, even the tongue was eaten. However the Orc was in a hurry and had no time to harvest an entire troll. He quickly cut off a snippet of fat from the troll and slipped it into his pouch.

* * *

><p>"We're here." The cart jerked to a stop in the middle of the road. In the woods the Orc could see Largashbur just a few meters off the path.<p>

The Orc flipped the man another septim, "Thanks for the ride." He slowly slipped out of the cart and the driver rolled away. Lightning cracked in the sky and a resounding boom followed shortly after. It began to rain.

The Orc trudged towards the stronghold. He noticed that corpses laid along the outside walls, walls that were smashed in places like they had been slammed by a battering ram. The corpses were of many orcs and a few giants. The Orc pieced together what happened and then suddenly, a voice shouted at him from the stronghold walls, "Who goes there?!" An angry looking orc woman stood atop the walls. She gripped a dangerous looking spell in her palm.

The Orc pulled back his hood and called back, "An Orc from Gol Heim. I come with no ill will against your stronghold." He gestured around at the smashed walls and the dead orcs, "What's going on here?"

The voice who had shouted at him before grew soft and the woman put her hands down, "Please, our tribe suffers and we need help. Our chief, Yamarz, was once a strong and proud warrior. Now he is stricken, cursed. He is weak, so our tribe is weak. The giants sense this, and intrude on our territory. Now they assault our very home." The woman stepped down from the wall and opened the gates.

The Orc stepped inside the stronghold, "Why haven't you sought help before?"

"Yamarz has demanded we stay inside the walls. We cannot leave."

The Orc's eyes widened. Just like his father. After the Orc left his home, his father Gnash's madness grew worse. In fear, he demanded that everyone stay inside the stronghold. Yamarz was afraid. The Orc gritted his teeth, "What can I do?"

The woman rubbed her chin, "I must petition Malacath for relief. This curse must be lifted. But I cannot travel to Malacath's shrine. The ritual must be done here, and I do not have the materials I need."

The two orcs strode towards the inside of the stronghold, "Which are?" the Orc pressed.

"Ordinarily, troll fat and a daedra heart. However, today is the eighth of Frostfall, which is the summoning date of Malacath. All we should need to summon him is some troll fat."

The Orc pulled the fat from the troll he had encountered earlier, "I ran into a troll on my way here."

The orc woman grabbed the fat and gave the Orc a curious glare, "Did you now?"

The strangeness struck the Orc as well, "Yes. Odd isn't it. The same day that I travel to Largashbur, I run into a troll and take the exact ingredient I need to summon Malacath on his summoning date. Quite convenient."

The orc woman was dumbfounded but shook it off, "Quite convenient. Now, you must come with me. You've become part of this. You must be present for the ritual." She paused for a moment, "I am Atub by the way."

Through the stronghold, orcs walked about. Grim looks were plastered on their faces. Some huddled around the fire, blandly chewing on some food. In the center of the stronghold laid a long shrine to Malacath. A stone slab with a pole at the end and a deer skull impaled on top. On the slab laid lavender flowers and a full set of orcish armor. As the Orc and Atub neared the shrine, other orcs gathered around.

Atub stopped at the shrine and turned around, "I must bring Yamarz from the longhouse. He needs to be here as well. Wait here." She strode towards the crescent shaped longhouse and disappeared inside.

The orcs that had gathered around whispered amongst themselves. _Who's that? We don't need help from an outsider. Look at him, he's a cripple._ The Orc gripped his warhammer staff and ignored them.

Suddenly, Yamarz burst from the doors of the longhouse, "You bring an outsider here, and now insist that I call on Malacath for help, when he has clearly forsaken me!? You try my patience, Atub!"

Atub quickly followed after the orc chief, sporting a new bruise around her left eye, "Doing nothing will not grant our tribe relief from this curse. We must try."

Yamarz raised his hand and Atub flinched, "Grr. Fine, lets get this over with."

The Orc gritted his teeth, but said nothing as Atub approached the shrine and placed the troll fat upon it, "Great Malacath, we beseech you, aid us in our time of need…"

"Why are we bothering with this?" Yamarz interrupted. The Orc grew furious, but before he could confront Yamarz, a booming voice echoed from the altar.

"_You pathetic weakling!"_

The Orc's heart pounded in his chest and he dropped to his knees. "Please father." He whispered, "I'm sorry. Forgive me."

"What's that?" Yamarz asked, clueless.

"Malacath has heard my pleas! He speaks to us!" Atub cried.

The voice sounded out again. The Orc gripped his hands together and his eyes clenched shut. His body shook.

"_You dare summon me, Yamarz?"_

The Orc's eyes sprung open. Yamarz? Not Nat? Oh gods. Malacath hadn't even acknowledged him yet.

"What? What is this?" Yamarz searched the sky, still completely oblivious.

"_You don't deserve to call yourself an Orc! You're weak, you're small, and you're an embarrassment!"_ The terrifying voice rolled over the stronghold like thunder, "_You let giants… Giants! Overrun my shrine! Bring me their leader's head as an offering and I might release you from this curse!" _The voice stopped and the message was clear.

"We have angered Malacath, and so we must be punished." Atub raised her arms to the sky, "So it will be. Malacath has spoken, Yamarz. Your path is clear."

Yamarz groaned, "Very well. You, outsider, come here! I want a word."

The Orc rose from his knees, not without effort, and limped to Yamarz.

"This is all your fault, you know. I'm stuck fighting a giant now, thanks to you. So you're going to help me." Yamarz crossed his arms and sneered at the injured Orc, "You're going with me, and you're going to make sure I don't have any trouble reaching that giant. Don't worry, I'll- "

The Orc cut him off, "Fighting the giant is not my task. Killing it is the task given to you by our father Malacath. Fortunately for you, I have my own reasons for getting to the shrine." The Orc poked Yamarz in the chest, pushing him back, "From what I've seen of you, you seem to be a sniveling excuse for a chief. So be assured, I want to be rid of you as quickly as possible."

Yamarz's face contorted, but before he could respond, Atub arrived with two horses for each of the orcs, "Best of luck to both of you. May Malacath's mercy be upon you."

The Orc strapped the warhammer on the horse's back and used it to mount his saddle. He lashed the reins and they were off in a flash.

* * *

><p>The entrance to Malacath's shrine, Fallowstone cave, had been decorated with giant runes and bones hung with strings. The two horses whinnied as they approached the entrance.<p>

"Ugh." Yamarz pinched his nose, "What's that horrible smell coming from the cave?"

The Orc took a long whiff, "Mammoth cheese. Looks like the giants have set up their own foundation at the shrine."

Yamarz hopped off his horse and gave the Orc a confused look, "Why would giants take over a daedric shrine, in the Rift no less!"

"Because," The Orc groaned as he slowly dismounted, "It's not just any daedric shrine, It's Malacath's."

"So?"

The Orc rolled his eyes, "By the gods, did your father teach you nothing about Malacath?" Yamarz scoffed and looked away, embarrassed.

"Anyway," The Orc continued, "The giants are children of Malacath and they grasp a basic understanding of him."

"Wait what!?" Yamarz cried, "Malacath created the Orcs, not giants!"

"After Trinimac's transformation into Malacath, his followers were also transformed into the Orsimer. However, Malacath grew bored. He wanted more influence on Nirn than just through the Orsimer. So Malacath created the first Giants, then Gremlins, Goblins, Ogres, and Trolls. It was decreed that these creatures would seek to worship Malacath as well as they could. Therefore, to this day all 'Goblin-ken' battle for Malacath's favor."

Yamarz had clearly lost interest long ago, "Lets just get this over with." He headed into the cave. The Orc rolled his eyes and followed, "This is why the other races don't like orcs."

Yamarz unsheathed his axe and shield as he and the Orc crept towards the end of the tunnel. At the end, the cave opened up to a massive room. The inside of the cavern looked even worse than the outside. Structurally it was beautiful, with waterfalls, various flora, and a warm breeze. It would have been a marvel to look at, if not for the dead orcs that lay all over the place.

At the bottom of the river, there was a giant bonfire. Two giant, a male and a female, procreated loudly beside it. Yamarz grimaced and looked away. The Orc put a finger to his lips and pointed to another tunnel behind the giants, "While they're distracted." He and Yamarz snuck past silently.

"So, we're all destined to kill each other huh? The Orcs and the Giants and the Trolls?"

"Not the trolls." The Orc corrected, "They're not smart enough to worship Malacath. Their instincts are to fight and stay strong, like the Orcs, but they can't comprehend much more than that. However, they can be taught to fight and obey."

Yamarz's brow pursed in confusion, "Didn't you say that we're all meant to fight one another?"

The Orc sighed, "I don't believe that. I think that if the children of Malacath were somehow able to ally with one another, we would become the greatest alliance known to Nirn. We could all worship Malacath together and fight as one."

"You're crazy." Yamarz laughed, "Giants and Trolls are savage monsters, mindless beasts. Everybody knows that. They don't 'ally' with anyone." He trotted further into the cave with a chuckle.

The Orc gripped his staff tightly and continued on.

Up ahead, the new tunnel opened up again. A sleeping giant laid directly in their path. The Orc was able to quickly sneak around it, but Yamarz stumbled loudly as he walked next to the giant's head. Before the beast could make a sound, the Orc's warhammer imbedded itself into the giant's forehead.

Yamarz gaped for a moment, but quickly regained his sullen composure and continued on. The Orc leaned on the warhammer to pull it out. When it popped free, he fell to the ground. The Orc's arm and leg both ached, but he continued on.

The cave finally opened up to a snowy grove covered in trees. "Malacath's grove." Yamarz remarked, "The leader should be here." Mammoth skeletons and giant paintings decorated most of the grove.

At the end of the grove, an enormous bonfire was lit before Malacath's shrine. The Orc tensed up. The shrine depicted Malacath as a bloody orc with a sword raised above his head and an angry snarl on his face. The giant leader bowed before the shrine. Adorned in various pelts and bones, he stood over twenty feet tall.

Yamarz turned to the Orc, "Alright, I'll go kill this giant. Unless, of course, you'd like to make some extra gold."

The Orc was dumbfounded, "What are you talking about?"

Yamarz sighed, "I'm tired, I haven't slept well in weeks. You kill the giant, bring me the hammer. We go back to Largashbur, I tell everyone I did it. You keep your mouth shut, and I pay you. Handsomely."

Disgusted, the Orc spat at Yamarz's feet, "You would dare defy Malacath's direct order? You make me sick. Kill the damn giant or die trying."

Yamarz was furious but quickly calmed down, "I know why you won't do it." He said smugly, "You can't. You're a cripple who probably can't kill anything." He laughed, "You wait here. This should only take a second.

Yamarz snuck towards the giant and struck its achilles with his axe once he was behind it. The giant spun around with a roar. It gripped a crude warhammer in its fist, made from a fallen tree and a large rock. Yamarz rolled out of the way as the giant swung at him, and struck again with his axe. For a minute, it looked as if Yamarz would actually kill the beast. But then, Yamarz lost his footing and the giant's backhand strike sent him flying away from the altar. The giant laughed and charged towards the downed warchief. The beast raised his warhammer to squash Yamarz, but with one well placed throw, the Orc's lucky dagger imbedded itself in the giant's temple. The giant fell with a resounding crash, making the ground shake.

Yamarz, drenched in sweat, got up from the ground. He pulled the Orc's dagger from the giant's head and observed it, "Excellent work. You have a true fighting spirit. Did better than I could have."

The Orc nodded silently.

"Of course, I can't let you leave here alive. Wouldn't want anyone finding out." He suddenly lunged at the Orc with his own dagger.

Quick as a firebolt, the Orc rolled out of the way and tore off his cloak. It would only get in the way. Underneath, he had only regular clothes from the Tinker's house and his father's hammer.

The Orc kept his weight on his right leg and raised his warhammer in defense. This was not the way he was going to go. Killed by his own kind.

Yamarz charged with the knife as the Orc swung with the hammer. They battled back and forth for what seemed like hours to the Orc. Shooting pains in his arm and leg nearly drove the Orc to his knees, but he stood tall as Yamarz pressed his attack.

With a swooping kick to his left knee, Yamarz disabled the Orc. He raised the dagger above his head, "Any last words Orc?"

The Orc clutched his hammer. With all his strength, the Orc swung the weapon in a full arc. It landed square on Yamarz's left boot, smashing the armor into his foot. As Yamarz howled in pain and clutched his foot, the Orc brought up his warhammer and stuck it through the chief's jaw and into his skull. Yamarz went limp and dropped like a rock.

The Orc pressed the warhammer's head to the ground and lifted himself from the dirt. He took his knife from Yamarz's grip and sheathed it back into his boot. The Orc gazed up at the altar. The scowl on Malacath's idol seemed to be directed at him. Who could blame him after all. The Orc had failed. Failed to protect his home. Failed to protect his family. Failed to bring vengeance upon the one who had taken it all away.

He stepped up to the bloody shrine and fell to his knees and laid the warhammer on Malacath's shrine, "Father Malacath, I have failed you. Everything I love has been taken from me. I have no more reason to live." The Orc looked desperately at the statue's face, "What do you want me to do?"

The ground rumbled and shook. The Orc closed his eyes in defeat. This was the end. Malacath was the god of the sworn oath and the bloody curse. Surely he would not show mercy.

In a flash of blinding energy, the Orc disappeared.


	11. Valley of Souls

**Chapter 11**: Valley of Souls

The Ashpit was said to be a dreary, empty place that held nothing but smoke and ash. No ground nor sky. A place of emptiness and anguish consisting of a million shades of gray where time had little meaning. The Ashpit was the realm of Malacath.

The Orc fell through the ashen atmosphere. His body spun and twisted as he plummeted through nothingness. He fell for an eternity until madness, dullness, and eventually emptiness overwhelmed him.

At least that's what would have happened if a large hand had not suddenly snached him out of the air. The Orc looked back at his savior and his eyes widened in terror. An enormous creature gripped him by the back of his collar. The beast almost looked like an Orc, except for the fact that it was nearly fifteen feet tall, fat as a horker, and covered in black spikes. The green scales on its back shone in the dim light of the sky. It stood on thin air as if it was sold ground. The creature raised the Orc to its face, staring at him with beady red eyes. The monster sniffed his head and grunted. An Orgim, the signature daedra of Malacath.

The Ogrim turned and stomped off, dragging the Orc behind him. He didn't resist. After all, where would he go? Break from the daedra's grip only to fall through the ashpit again? The Orc had an idea of where he was being taken anyway.

When the Ogrim finally reached its destination, it tossed the Orc in front of him. The Orc flailed, expecting to fall through the air. However, the invisible ground met him as his face smacked against it. He shook it off and painfully tried to stand. His still broken leg wobbled and gave out, bringing him back to his knees.

The Ogrim snarled and kicked the Orc in the ribs, trying to get him to stand. He winced in pain but simply snarled back. The beast growled and prepared to kick him again. Suddenly, a harsh, booming voice rang out, "**Enough!"** The Ogrim froze and lowered his leg. The voice roared out again, "**Leave us!"**

The Orgim took a clumsy bow and with one final growl at the Orc, he lumbered away.

The Orc carefully leaned on his good leg and hoisted himself upright. He brushed himself off and looked around. There was nothing to stand on, yet the Orc stood as if there was solid ground. Gray above and below. Particles of soot and ash drifted through the air. This place didn't seem to have much variety.

Almost as if in response to his thoughts, the cruel voice sounded from all around. "**You don't like my little plane of Oblivion? Perhaps you would prefer a different one."**

The Orc swallowed. There was no doubt of who that voice belonged to. He went to his knees and bowed, "Lord Malacath, my king. I have failed you."

The voice growled, "**Oh? How so?**"

The Orc glanced up in suspicion but continued anyway, "I swore an oath to you that I would destroy Alduin the World Eater and I have failed. I will accept the fate you have for me."

The ashpit seemed to still. All was silent. A menacingly deep chuckle echoed from all around. The ashen fog parted, revealing what seemed to be an enormous white pillar. As the Orc limped toward it, he realized that it was in fact a massive backbone than ran from the top of the ashpit to the bottom. In the middle of the titanic spine, molded into the pale bone, sat a throne. On the bony throne sat Malacath.

The daedric prince looked like an Orc. He had an extremely powerful build and olive green skin. Black horns jutted from his cranium twisting into a crown like shape. His irises glowed red, giving his complexion a dark, demonic look. He wore nothing but a long leather loincloth and a belt adorned with skulls.

The Orc stumbled and almost fell. It was nearly impossible to walk without his staff. His broken bones ached and he bit his lip to keep from crying out.

Malacath frowned and stood from his pale throne. He crossed his massive arms and stared hard at the Orc. His gaze was fire, "**You didn't answer my question. Do you like my plane of Oblivion?"**

The Orc faltered, his mouth agape. The daedric lord's gaze seemed to pierce his soul, "As a boy I was told that the ashpit was a place where faithful orcs would dine and fight for all eternity, and well..." He paused but the god nodded his head, urging him to continue, "This place seems empty, barren."

The orcish god held his stony gaze for a moment. Slowly, his toothy frown turned into a light smile and he stroked his chin, "**I suppose it is, isn't it? I've thought about changing it into something else, but then the name Ashpit wouldn't make much sense."**

The Orc involuntarily smiled as well, "No, I suppose it wouldn't." Remembering the questionable circumstances in which he was, the Orc quickly sobered from his amusement, "My king, Lord Malacath, what will become of me?"

The god stroked his chin again, seemingly pondering what he should do, "**Hmm… I suppose I could turn you into an ogrim. Lately I've been in need of a few more. Although I suppose it wouldn't be fitting for you to endure the same fate that your father did."**

The Orc froze, "My father, Gnash?"

Malacath nodded solemnly, "**Yes. He made a mockery of my worship. Twisted it into something wrong. Almost destroyed his stronghold in the process."**

The Orc shook his head, "No. I destroyed Gol Heim. I let my home and my family burn. I could not defeat Alduin."

Malacath shook his head and spoke in a much softer voice, "No my son. There is something you should know." The god of the spurned stepped towards the Orc, "The destruction of your home was beyond your control. Your revenge was not possible. To destroy Alduin the world-eater, the Dragonborn must be present." He put a gentle hand on the Orc's shoulder, "For all your skill and prowess, you could not have beaten the World Eater."

The Orc's body sagged in despair. All that time. All that preparation. Esbern and Delphine's death for nothing, "So what can I do?"

The god stood up straight and stepped back. He extended his open palm towards the Orc, "**I grant you your strength back!"**

The Orc groaned as he felt his bones realign and crack into place, mending themselves.

"**I grant you your armor back!"** A flurry of objects flew from all directions and whizzed around the Orc like a tornado. One by one, the objects fastened onto the Orcs body and clicked together. When everything settled, the Orc was adorned in a full set of Orcish armor.

Malacath extended his powerful arm upward. Out of the mist, the Orc's warhammer sailed towards Malacath who satched out of the air, "**I grant you your weapon back!"** As he lowered the great hammer, it shifted into something new. It stretched and and grew spikes. A pulsing, red orb glowed in the middle of the new weapon.

"The Hammer of Might." The Orc breathed as he grasped the warhammer, "All this time my father's warhammer was Volendrung?"

Malacath nodded, "Aye. Waiting for a chieftain worthy to wield it."

The Orc looked up from the artifact with confused awe.

"**And finally, I give you your name back Nat gro- Gol Heim."**

The Orc, Nat, was stunned, "But… why? Why give me these things? Why not punish me?"

"Because," the god paused, "Although the dragonborn is needed to kill Alduin, it is Your destiny to slay the beast. You harbor a wrath so terrible that not even a god could stand in your way. I will send you back and you will fulfill your oath." He paused, "You must find the Dovahkiin and destroy Alduin in his presence. Only then will the dragon die."

Nat dropped to one knee, "I will not fail you again my king. I will find the Dragonborn and fulfill my destiny."

The god laughed, "Good! Very good my boy. Now I must ask before you go. Would you like to see your family again?"

* * *

><p>For awhile the two walked in silence. Malacath took powerful strides with his arms swaying by his side. Nat noticed a few strange things about the daedric lord. Although he looked primarily like an orc, the god had other noticeable features. Malacath's bare back was covered in green scales like the ogrim. His arms were long, shoulders sporting sharp spikes like a troll. His ears were long and pointed like a gremlin's or a goblin's. Nat wondered why orcish shrines always depicted Malacath as an orc if he looked different.<p>

Again, as if he could read the Nat's mind, Malacath answered, "You're wondering why I look like this and not exactly like an orc."

Nat opened his mouth to respond but nodded instead.

"The Orc's worship me as an Orcish god because that's what they can relate to. Ogres worship me as an Ogre because that's what they can understand. Goblins and Gremlins worship me as a giant being named Muluk because that's what they can comprehend. The trolls would no doubt worship me in their own way if they weren't so fucking stupid."

Nat pondered this, "With so many varieties of your religion, which form of worship is true?" He asked.

Malacath laughed, "In truth, they all are. I mold all my children into my own form. Change them into something stronger, just as I was transformed. Although they look different, they all share some of my likeness and have one thing in common, raw strength."

Nat cocked his head, "Change them?"

Malacath nodded, "Yes, as I was. Before their transformations, my children were weak, pitiful beings. Now they possess my strength. Each have their own individual blessing. The orcs with their intelligence. The trolls with their healing ability. The giants with their size. The goblins with their creativity. And the ogres with their brute strength."

"Ah." Nat nodded. Despite the many claims of other races that Malacath was a cruel deity, he seemed quite reasonable, friendly even. Even though Nat had only met him a few minutes ago, he felt as if he had known the great king his entire life.

As they trotted through the ashen nothingness, Nat noticed strange vaporous creatures that moaned and twisted in agony along the way. Malacath called them his "lost creatures," orcs and other servants of his who had lost their way and ended up in the ashpit for eternity.

After awhile, the two approached a pale white gate jutting out of the fog. The fog behind the gate was so thick it was impossible to see through.

"What's past this gate?" Nat asked.

Malacath merely grinned and waved his hand. The gate sprang open and the fog parted, revealing a misty staircase. He trotted up the stairs and beckoned Nat to follow.

At the top of the stairs, Nat stopped and stared in shock. No longer were there clouds of ash or twisted creatures. Instead, beyond the pale gate, there laid a wide valley, pale as the moon and covered with flowers. Enormous jutting mountains encircled the great place, and a waterfall created a flowing river through the valley. The river flowed into a moat that encircled stone castle. Far away, on the valley's floor, orcs, trolls, ogres, and other children of Malacath wandered around in peace. Some picked flowers and chased insects while others sat and ate picnics. "Paradise." Nat gasped in awe.

"Come on Nat!" Malacath called ahead, already heading towards the valley.

Nat sluggishly started after him, "What is this place?"

Malacath smiled, "This is my garden. The most sacred place in the Ashpit. Only the most devout of my children are allowed in these gates."

Nat followed closely, but could not keep his eyes off the surrounding valley. Giants lumbered around, carrying flowers and food instead of a club. Goblins ran playfully with Orc children. Ogres and Trolls wrestled on the grass. Lilacs and lavender swayed gently in the breeze.

As he was running , Nat nearly tripped over someone. He quickly stood, brushed himself off, and turned to offer help to whoever he had stumbled upon. A jolt ran down Nat's spine as he realized that he had tripped over a Falmer.

Squinting and growling, the creature groped around, feeling for whoever had fallen over him.

Nat slowly unsheathed Volendrung from his back and raised it high. Just as he was about to bring it down upon the beast, Malacath's booming voice called out again, "**What in the name of Me are you doing Nat?"** The god stomped over to him.

Nat lowered the hammer, "Why is there a falmer in this valley? I thought only your children were allowed here."

"They are." The god winked, "The falmer are my children now." Nat's eyes widened in shock. The god quickly explained himself, "Long ago, the falmer used to be normal elves, until the dwemer blinded and enslaved them. After years of torturous imprisonment, one of the falmer, desperate for an escape, prayed to me. He begged me to return his people to glory, to break the chains of the dwemer. I offered his people something greater, strength. The falmer would become cruel and powerful fighters, able to defend themselves from the dwemer. In return, the falmer would remain ostracized, removed from all society as blind and twisted beings."

The falmer whom Nat had tripped over grasped his hand and purred. Initially stunned, Nat's grimace turned into a light grin and he patted the bald falmer on the head. The falmer made a face that looked like a sharp toothed grin.

"Aww, you made a friend." Malacath mocked. He turned and trotted towards the castle in the middle of the field, "Come on Nat! We're nearly there!"

Nat took one last glance at the grinning snow elf and followed Malacath.

The castle laid directly in the middle of the valley. As Malacath neared the castle's moat, a drawbridge lowered which he stepped on without breaking stride. Nat followed Malacath inside the castle walls. The interior courtyard of the building opened up into a large garden with tables and seats. A slender tree sat alone in the middle of the garden. Under this tree sat Nat's youngest daughter, Shel.

Nat felt his throat close up and his eyes water. Suddenly he found it hard to breathe and feared that if tried to speak, only sobs would come out.

Malacath noticed his distress and called out to the girl, "Shel, I've brought someone here to see you."

The little girl who had been picking flowers looked up and saw her father. A grin of ecstatic shock lit up on her face as she leapt to her feet and ran over to Nat. She jumped on his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck, "Daddy!"

Nat fell to one knee and gripped the girl tightly, "Hi sweetie. I've missed you."

Shel peppered her father's face with kisses, "I missed you too!" The five year old jumped from her father's embrace. She took his hand and pulled him inside the castle, "C'mon! Everyone's gonna want to see you!"

Inside the castle there was a room with an enormous fireplace, books, and dining tables. In this room, Nat saw his family. His two sons, Dull and Dullr were wrestling. His daughters, Jess and Alor were playing with dolls at a table. Young brothers, cousins, and friends who had been killed by his father, Gnash before they had grown into men were loitering around. Nat's wives sat and read or talked with one another.

Shel let go of Nat's hand and shouted out, "Hey! Look over here!" Causing everyone to look at her and Nat. For a moment, there was silence. The family all had shocked looks on their faces. Then, all at once, the silence deteriorated in a mass of shouting. "It's Nat!" "He's much bigger than when we left." "How are you boy?" "By Malacath we've missed you." "Thank god you're home!"

The remaining four of Nat's children tackled him and they all fell to the ground. When he rose, he received hugs and headbutts from friends, nods from respected elders, and kisses from his wives. Everything was perfect.

The wise woman, Yashnag, pushed her way to the front of the crowd. The old bat was adorned in the same old hooded cloak she had worn when she was alive. Cranky and critical, with a scratchy old voice that sounded like a crow, Yashnag was one of Nat's most beloved friends. She was Nat's teacher and his guide when Gnash ignored him as a child. There were few people Nat was happier to see than her.

Yashnag eyed Nat with her constant gaze of scrutiny, "So the chieftain has finally returned to us. What did you in Nat? Was it that dragon? Racist Nord marauders? A bad case of Rockjoint?"

Nat chuckled, "I'm actually not dead. I sought Malacath's aid and he let me see you all."

The tribe gasped and muttered amongst themselves. "What will you do?" Asked his brother Lurash. "Surely you can't beat the dragon alone?" Remarked his uncle Mato.

"He can't and he won't!" Called Malacath from the doorway. He walked over to Nat and patted him on the back, "Nat will find the Dragonborn and then kill the Dragon! But until he is finished living his life, Nat will not return to this place."

Nat glanced at his deceased tribe, all of them wore worried looks. His younger son, Dull gripped his hand, "You'll be back right?"

Nat smiled and patted the boy on the cheek, "Yes, after awhile. Watch out for the tribe while I'm gone."

His two daughters, Jess and Alor sniffled pitifully, "Please don't go. We miss you." Nat gave them all kisses on the forehead, "Don't worry girls. I'll be back someday."

Shell however seemed unfettered by the situation. Nat kneeled down and pulled out the little green doll he had been holding on to, "I brought your doll Shel."

The little orc girl thought for a moment, then shook her head and pressed the doll to Nat's chest, "Keep him. He will keep you safe!"

Nat chuckled, "Well he's kept me alive so far." He tucked the little green doll back into his pouch, "I'll keep him for you until I return, deal?"

"Deal!" The little girl grinned, her tiny tusks showing.

Nat nodded, his eyes shining. He turned to Malacath, "I'm ready."

Malacath nodded, "Good." he led Nat back outside into the courtyard.

Nat suddenly became worried, "My king, what shall I do after Alduin is defeated?"

Malacath laughed and gripped Nat's shoulder once more, "That's the spirit boy. But just worry about getting that dragon for now. Find the Dovahkiin, gather your allies, fulfill your vengeance."

Nat's worry did not subside, "Please my lord, what should I do?"

Malacath grew serious, "After you destroy the great worm Alduin, I will tell you the prophecy of your destiny Nat. Destroy the dragon and your journey will truly begin." He extended his open palm towards Nat's head.

Nat's vision blurred and then flashed white as he was teleported back to Nirn.

* * *

><p>A.N: Hey guys, sorry for the wait! New semester of college has been kicking my ass. This chapter is my favorite so far, hope you enjoyed it as well ;) Hmu about what you like and don't like and I'll be sure to update soon. For the glory of Malacath! -Gol Heim<p> 


	12. Tests for the Broken

**Chapter 12**: Tests for the Vigilant

Ralof's anger quickly turned to desperation as he realized that he couldn't win the fight. "C'mon man, you can't be serious. Even if I do come, there's no way we can win against that!" All grew quiet in the Sleeping Giant inn. Ralof shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the bar. Orgnar, ever the passive barkeep, was safely hidden in the back and away from conflict. "I know you did me a solid at Helgen and I am in your debt," Ralof winced at the admission, "But perhaps I could pay you back another way?"

Nat gro- Gol Heim stood tall with crossed arms and two orcish mercenaries at his back. The giant warhammer on his back was so large that he had to duck in order to enter the bar. His crimson eyes glared at the nervous nord. "Let me rephrase. You are coming with me to find the Dragonborn, you will aid me in fighting Alduin, and you will not complain about or I will have my friend Makhel Abbas snap you like a twig." Nat gestured to the orc behind him dressed in steel plate armor and wielding an enormous steel warhammer. In response, the burly orc growled and cracked his knuckles.

A drop of nervous sweat trailed down Ralof's forehead, which he quickly wiped away. His eyes darted back and forth from Nat to Makhel. It was suddenly apparent that desperation had gotten the better of him as his hand slowly reached for the war axe latched to his side.

Makhel's eyes darted to the nord's weapon. He bared his sharp teeth and reached for his warhammer, but Nat raised a hand, stopping him. "Ralof," He said in a much softer voice, "Alduin destroyed my home, my family. If what Delphine said was true, then Skyrim is next. I know you want to defend your home as much as I want avenge mine. Please, I need as much help as I can get. Fight with me."

Ralof's eyes were still wide with nervousness, but he had stopped shaking and his hand moved away from his weapon. After a minute he closed his eyes and nodded his head furiously. "For my family and my country."

Nat smiled and looked around the bar. Most of the bar's patrons had been listening. After all, three heavily armed orcs talking about the end of the world was not a conversation easily missed.

The bard Sven gently placed his lute on his chair. "I'll fight as well. If Alduin isn't beaten now, then he'll come for all of us."

Faendal stood as well. "I've lived in Skyrim for many years now. It has become my home as much as anyone here. I'll fight as well."

Nat nodded. He hadn't planned on inspiring people, he had only hoped to cash in on the solid that Ralof owed him. As more and more people stood and pledged to fight against Alduin's reign, it became apparent that his words were beyond inspiring, they were necessary. He made people see the truth of what needed to be done. Nat smiled and raised a fist, "Alright then. But before we go, who would like a drink?" The standing patrons laughed and cheered.

* * *

><p>"Come on Buren, you can do it." The Tinker said excitedly at his apprentice. Buren extended his hands over the golden table. The red gem in the center pulsated and spun with energy. His face was strained and the veins in his arm pulsed. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck. "I can't do it."<p>

"Come on now." The Tinker urged hopefully, "It's a basic principle of magica energy that it can be transferred at its rawest forms. It hardly requires any effort on your part. You just need to draw the energy from the gem."

Buren gritted his teeth, his fingers shook. Finally he lowered his hands, "I'm sorry Azarain, it's like I don't have any magic in me."

The Tinker waived the thought away, "Oh posh, everyone has magic in them, no matter how small the amount. You'll get it tomorrow." He brandished his handkerchief and offered it to his apprentice who took it thankfully.

"We've been trying this for days, what if I can never do it?" Buren asked as he wiped his forehead with the cloth.

Azarain patted him on the back and led him out of the study, "You'll get the hang of it my boy. Even if you doesn't, which you will, you can still take over the inventing business." His brow pursed as he thought, "Although it will be much more difficult."

Buren handed back the handkerchief, "Thanks Azarain. I'd better get back to making those flintlocks." He put on a smile, but the Tinker could see it was fabricated.

Just as Buren headed out the door, Azarain stepped out after him, "Those guns can wait, come to the cellar."

Buren's milky eyes narrowed in confusion, but he didn't have time to inquire as Azarain quickly slipped past the cellar door. He shook his head and followed.

Inside the cellar the lights were off which Buren found strange. When he flipped the switch and the lights above turned on, he saw the Tinker standing beside something covered by a white sheet. It was not out of the ordinary for Azarain to show Buren a new invention that he hoped would dazzle him, although he had been acting suspiciously for this to be a norman invention.

Azarain smiled and patted whatever lay underneath the sheet. He readjusted the golden goggles on his head, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I ask you today, have you ever felt less than? Have you ever felt that you're not meeting your full potential? Well today is your day!"

The Tinker usually introduced his inventions to Buren this way. He would always devise some catchy alluring opening, promising riches, power, or women. The inventions were always quite astounding. Practice for the "Big Sale" he always said. However Buren knew that Azarain really just needed someone to be proud of him and admire his inventions. Sometimes he felt that was part of the reason he kept Buren around.

Suddenly though, the mock presentation took a different turn. "Buren, you have been my loyal apprentice and friend for many months now. When I found you, you were weak and broken. Although you have fought to regain your strength, I know that you'll never be as strong as you once were." He paused and cleared his throat. "So as a thank you for all your help, I present to you…" He grasped the white sheet and threw it away.

What laid underneath looked like scraps wielded together, but as Buren looked closer he saw more. Slender limbs in the shape of a person with gears and a large golden engine on the back. At the end of each limb was a strap that looked like it could latch onto a person.

"I give you, the hyperion exoskeleton. Designed to reinforce the limbs of your body to make you stronger, faster, better. Not only will you regain your former strength Buren, but when you put this suit on you will possess the strength of a god."

Buren was beyond stunned. He leaned so heavily on his staff that he almost lost his balance and fell. When he regained his composure he cleared his throat, "Could I try it out?"

Azarain smiled widely, "Of course!"

Buren stepped towards the exoskeleton and Azarain stepped back. He examined the machine and found the arm and leg straps.

Just as he was about to put the machine on, Azarain tapped his shoulder, "Might I suggest you wear some armor under the hyperion? If it overheats you might be burned."

Buren shook his head and started to strap in anyway, "I'll try out my new body without armor thanks." As soon as he was strapped in, the suit activated. The engine on the back spewed steam and sparks danced out from the interior. The gears on the arms whirred to life as the machine became operational. Little skeletal limbs slid over each of his fingers, reinforcing them. Buren dropped his staff and rotated his arms, testing the range of movement. He found that the hyperion exoskeleton was just as flexible as he was and did not feel as bulky as it seemed. He could do jumping jacks, stand on his hands, and just about any motion he pleased with no resistance from his damaged body. A tiny monitor on his left arm showed what looked like power gauges with numbers and percentages.

Azarain tapped on the tiny screen, "These control the power levels of the limbs. The higher the power output, the faster and stronger you'll be. A bit of warning though, I wouldn't put the machine over one hundred percent power. The hyperion's regulator isn't meant to be pushed to far."

The Tinker's words were lost as Buren suddenly bolted out of the cellar. He ran into the surrounding pine forest. It had been so long since he felt the wind on his face from running that he had almost forgotten what it felt like. When the Moors was no longer in sight, Buren looked at his wrist monitor. The power output was at zero percent and already he felt stronger than he had ever been. "Just to test it." He muttered as he put the suit at twenty five percent power. The monitor made a small beep and the engine on his back whirred a little louder.

Buren looked at his hands, he didn't feel any different. He still felt no resistance from his burned and broken body which he was thankful for.

Suddenly, he spied a boulder twice his size, gently leaning against a large tree. His eyes widened, and in a moment of inspiration, he dashed towards the boulder. Buren placed his palms on the boulder's side and shoved with all his might. To his surprise, the massive rock actually started to roll with ease.

He pulled his hands away from the boulder and looked at the tree. He jumped nearly eight feet and wrapped his newly powerful limbs onto the trunk. The wood almost snapped because he gripped it so tightly. With a wicked grin, Buren began to climb the tree with ease. With his newly found strength, he could dig his fingers into the trunk, creating small handholds.

Buren stopped when he reached as high as he could go and looked backwards. Another, taller tree was planted behind him. With a short tug, his right arm pulled free from the bark. He readjusted the power levels on his suit to seventy five percent power. His eyes widened with excitement as the engine spat more steam and whirred a little louder.

Buren smoothly slipped his goggles over his eyes and with one powerful push from his legs, he shot away from the tree. He spun in the air and slammed against the adjacent tree, grabbing hold. It was easier to climb now that his power level was higher. Buren gripped a sturdy looking branch and pulled upwards with all his might. The strong branch almost snapped, but Buren shot up the tree at an alarming speed. He smashed through branches and leaves finally stopping at the very top of the pine. The top of the tree bent with his weight, but he managed to hang on. The top of the forest laid before him like a green grove. Birds soaring at eye level, darting in and out of the treeline.

Without a second thought, Buren let out a roar and leapt to the forest floor nearly eighty feet below. He smashed through branches and leaves, panicking birds and squirrels as he shot past. When he smashed against the ground, his suit creaked with strain but did not break. In fact, a quick systems check showed that the hyperion exoskeleton did not suffer any damage at all. Buren laughed with wonder. This was Azarain's best invention yet. But still he still wanted more.

Bringing up his left arm, Buren set the machine to one hundred and fifty percent. The engine spewed more steam and grew even louder. Something in the back of his mind screamed "don't do it" but any warning that Azarain gave had been forgotten in all the excitement.

Buren kneeled to the ground. He laid both his knuckles against the soft dirt. In one sudden burst of movement, Buren leapt forward as far as he could. He shot away for hundreds of feet over the trees and past the forest. When he landed, he broke into a dead sprint that would outrun an arrow. When he stopped running just a couple of minutes later, he had already arrived at the Hjaal river which had been miles away. For the first time since putting on the suit Buren felt a bit tired. The engine on his back felt quite warm but he ignored it. He took a deep breath and washed his face in the river. Almost all of Azarain's inventions were waterproof, so Buren didn't have to worry about short circuiting himself. He took a long drink of water and glanced up. A tall mountain loomed above him, a mountain that would take a normal man hours to climb.

Buren gro- Gol Heim wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set his power levels to two hundred percent. The hyperion's engine bellowed with effort. Steam shot from the cooling jets on each side. In the middle of the Hjaal river there lay a small island, no more that ten feet wide. Buren took one powerful stride, landing on the island and then jumped with all his might.

As he sped towards the top of the mountain, faster than any hawk could dive, something went wrong. He heard a loud bang from his back. The hyperion engine began to overheat and burn his back. Buren gritted his teeth in pain as the exoskeleton began break in midair. Parts flew off and the engine belched black smoke. In a matter of seconds, Buren had gone from Super Orc back to the old, broken body of before.

As he flew just over the top of the mountain and began his descent, Buren brought up his feet. The suit was malfunctioning like crazy, but still managed to break his fall. As soon as he was able, Buren shut off the suit and leapt out of it. Unready for the transition to his old body, he fell over immediately and crawled away from the now flaming hyperion exoskeleton. A minute later it exploded into flame, releasing massive clouds of black smoke.

Buren was almost thrown off the top of the mountain by the explosion. Instead he smacked against a rock, causing his legs to spasm painfully. He gritted his teeth and passed out. The Tinker found him soon after. A golden orc jumping over mountains was not hard to follow after all. He had brought two servant bots with him. One carried Buren back home. The other carried the ruined hyperion exoskeleton.

* * *

><p>Vigilant Athena Copperheart twirled her glass mace as she walked. The sky was growing dark and stars began to appear. The shield Spellbreaker latched snugly on her back. She had been tracking the artifact for weeks and had finally pinpointed its location to a man staying at the Nightgate inn. The cocky adventurer who was carrying it had bragging to everyone about how he went on a lengthy quest for the daedric prince Peryite. At first, Athena tried the usual tricks. Flirting, laughing, natural charms. Shockingly this man seemed to only have eyes for himself and ignored her every attempt to woo him. Plan B was to just take the artifact by force. Fortunately the only other people in the bar were the barkeep, and an old drunk in the corner. Athena bashed the man's head in and dashed out with the artifact, before anyone could react. Why negotiate when you can just take?<p>

Athena clipped the mace back onto her belt and studied the magical shield. It was a beautiful thing. Gold with pearly mirrors. Its panels seemed to shimmer as bright as the moon. Still, it was a daedric artifact and needed to be destroyed. Almost a shame.

Athena had arrived at the Hall of the Vigilant just a day after she escaped from Helgen. The place was in fine shape. It wasn't in the middle of a bustling city like the halls in High Rock or Cyrodill at all. In fact, the Vigilants of Stendarr in Skyrim operated in places quite secluded from cities. Almost obscure locations.

Unlike the cold, removed environment where the Hall was located, its inhabitants were quite warm and accommodating. They gratefully accepted any charity given to them and were more than willing to help anyone in need. It was just as a Hall of the Vigilant should be.

Just then, Athena spied black smoke from over the hill, exactly where the Hall was. "No." Athena gasped. She unsheathed her weapon and sprinted over the hill. The Hall itself was not on fire yet, but the stables and a couple surrounding trees were. Vampires and death hounds were spread out in front of the Hall fighting Vigilants. By the looks of things, the fight was not going well. Athena yelled in rage and raced towards the battle.

The first thing to notice her was a death hound. The monster snarled and dashed towards her. With Athena's tiny frame, it was expecting an easy kill. To the beast's surprise, the girl leapt in the air with lightning speed and smashed the hound without breaking stride.

The rest of the vampires began to notice the Vigilant attacking from the other side and the ones who were not already fighting went for her.

In a flurry of blows, Athena smashed the kneecap of a master vampire, spun around him and lit his clothes on fire from behind.

Keeping the momentum going, she spun around, parrying the blow from another vampire and swung again, breaking it's neck.

The last vampire was an orc with eyes that glowed like fire. His pale, undead face contorted with rage as he attacked Athena. The orc vampire weilded two swords and attacked with furious strikes.

With a snap of her fingers, Athena created a swirling hurricane of flames that surrounded her. The oncoming vampire's eyes widened and he tried to retreat, but it was too late. He disintegrated as the flames consumed him.

Athena charged into the fray. Striking down one vampire after the other. Her arms were death and destruction as she dealt crushing blows and deadly magic. Soon, all undead were nothing more than piles of ash.

Vigilant Athena dropped her mace and collapsed on the porch of the Hall, exhausted. She felt a hand grasp her shoulder and offer her a water canteen. Athena looked up to see Keeper Carcette smiling down at her. Carcetti's face was covered in blood, but she seemed unhurt as she sat down next to Athena. "Thank Stendarr's mercy that you came in time Athena. I don't believe we would have succeeded in our defense if you weren't here."

Athena shook her head, "You are more than capable fighters. You do not need to rely on me for your defense." She took a greatful swig of water. "Who were those vampires? I've never seen so many attack out in the open like that."

Carcette grimaced. "That was what remains of the Volkihar vampire court. We had some trouble with them awhile back. If a group of vampire hunters called the Dawnguard did not stop them, I believe the Volkihar court could have destroyed the Vigilants of Stendarr altogether."

Athena's mouth dropped. "No way. The Vigilants of Stendarr are the strongest force for good in Tamriel. We alone defend against the daedra and their servants."

Carcette shook her head, "I thought so as well. Our agents are masters of both magic and armed combat. We are trained to track people and items from the smallest of hints. We offer our services to all of Tamriel." The keeper paused, "The dawnguard was made up of misfits. Inventors, troll trainers, mercenaries, even a few werewolves mind you."

Athena scrunched up her nose in disgust. "How can they hunt down one spawn of the daedra when they fight alongside another?"

Carcette shrugged. "Whatever their morals or goals, the Dawnguard singlehandedly wiped out the Volkihar court. Followed them into their skeever hole of a castle and obliterated them." She put her hands to her face and rubbed her eyes. "Of course the Dawnguard didn't stay together after the vampire threat was gone. Farmers returned home. Priests returned to their temples to pray. Orcs returned to their strongholds to worship their daedric lord Malacath."

Ordinarily, the mention of someone worshiping a daedric lord disgusted Athena. But for a moment she thought of someone she met awhile back. An orc who had helped her out of Helgen. She never even knew his real name and only spent a few hours with him in total, but for some reason she had felt close to that orc. She never asked whether or not he worshipped the orcish god Malacath. Partially because she didn't want to. As a sworn Vigilant of Stendarr, she was supposed to oppose anything and anyone related to the daedra. As a result, the Vigilants of Stendarr excluded orcs, dark elves, and any other race associated with daedra from joining. Athena never directly supported the idea, however she couldn't deny that all daedra were evil and that some races had a closer connection to them than others. Still, the Orc she had met was strong and sweet, when he wanted to be. Even if he did have some connection to a daedra surely he couldn't be completely...

Before Athena could finish that thought, a terrifying roar called out from behind the hall. Both she and Keeper Carcette stepped off the porch and looked around. The other Vigilants seemed equally confused. Everyones eyes searched the skies.

All of a sudden, a black shape soared over the hall and across the sky. Another roar, much louder than the last, shook the very ground. Athena ripped the mace from her belt. "Everyone form up!"

Just as the Vigilants began to organize, the black dragon shot over the Hall again and released a massive fireball.

"Take cover! Keeper Carcette screamed just as the hall exploded.

* * *

><p>Athena awoke buried in the snow a good sixty feet away from what used to be the Hall of the Vigilant. Her vision was blurry and her head hurt. The world seemed to tilt back and forth as she stumbled towards the Hall. Athena fell to the ground and clutched her knees and as she reached the front of the once great structure. Blackened Vigilants littered the ground. Fire consumed the entire building. It was just like when she was a little girl. Athena covered the scar on her face and wept as she rocked back and forth.<p>

After an hour, most of the fires died. Athena still lay in front of the hall, eyes wide open in shock. Then she heard the soft moaning of the wind. Soon, the moaning grew louder and louder. Athena bolted upright and saw that the ashed of the dead vampires were forming together into one shifting mass. Her mace was nowhere in sight, so she prepared two incinerate spells, one in each hand, expecting the worst.

The ash solidified into a single figure, a man. He was enormous, nearly ten feet tall. The being wore spiky armor and had sharp teeth. Two curving horns jutted from each side of his head.

Athena's eyes narrowed. "Molag Bal."

The daedric lord laughed a deep demonic laugh that sent a chill down Athena's spine. Certainly a laugh to be expected from Molag Bal. "Yes yes it is I, Molag Bal. I have come to-"

The daedric lord was cut off by an incinerate spell to the face from Athena. "Peice of shit! This is all your fault!" She cried.

When all her magica finally drained, Molag Bal wiped the soot out of his eyes and continued, "As I was saying, I have come to help you."

Athena, who was preparing to pepper the daedric prince with more fire, paused. "What? Your servants just destroyed my hall. Why would you help me?"

"Wrong! My servants tried to destroy your hall, but you destroyed them instead. The dominators became the dominated, by you. You have gained my favor Athena Copperheart of High Rock and I wish to give you a gift."

Athena spat on the daedra's ashen foot. "Save your gift. I'll take nothing from you."

Molag Bal's eyebrows rose. "Oh? Not even this?" He pulled Athena's mace from his back.

"That's already mine!" Athena retorted.

"Oh is it?" Molag Bal crooned. As he laughed, the mace became covered in vampire ashes. The weapon shifted and stretched. It became spiky and long. It glowed with an iridescent hue. "My mistake then. Take it back."

Athena watched in horror. That mace was the first weapon she ever received as a Vigilant of Stendarr. "It's not mine anymore. You've tainted it!"

"Wrong again my dear. It's still yours, it's just more powerful. It doesn't matter where power comes from, what's important is what you do with that power. Even your dear Keeper Carcette saw that."

"Don't speak her name daedra!" Athena barked at him.

"Oh it's true. She spoke to you about the Dawnguard and how they destroyed my servants. The Dawnguard was made up of puny, mismatched misfits who came together for a few months and somehow managed to destroy an ancient coven of immortals. Do you know why?"

For once, Athena did not have a witty response to someone.

"Because they took power where they could get it." The dark prince continued. "Crossbows from inventors, mighty beasts from trainers, orc berserkers, werewolves, mercenaries. It didn't matter where the power came from, they used it to obliterate vampires and they did it well might I add." Molag Bal shrank down to Athena's size and extended the mace towards her. "Take it and use that shield on your back as well, you're going to need it."

Athena shakily took the mace of Molag Bal. "Why?" She asked. "Why give this to me?"

The daedric prince smiled. "Well there's no doubt that you are going after that dragon now. If you happen to defeat that dragon, then once again the dominated will become the dominator. Also, you happen to know a certain orc who is also looking for this dragon."

Athena's eyes widened. The Orc! Where on earth would he be now?

"You can find him at a manor across the river from Solitude." Molag Bal said, almost as if in response to her thoughts.

Athena opened her mouth as if to respond, but then closed it.

"I don't expect you to say thank you princess, wouldn't dream of it. Just kill the dragon and you can keep that mace." In an instant, the daedric prince of domination was gone. Blown away like ashes in a gust of wind.

Athena held the Mace of Molag Bal in her grasp. The weapon was lighter that she would have imagined and she spun the mace in a circular motion. She sheathed the weapon on her belt and secured Spellbreaker on her back.

After gathering what supplies were left in the hall and saying a prayer of forgiveness to Stendarr, Athena headed north. Solitude was a long walk.

* * *

><p>A.N: Holy shit! That's the fastest chapter I've ever written. Hope you guys liked it. I was originally going to make it longer, but I decided that the next part would work better in the next chapter.<p>

The Hyperion exoskeleton was inspired by a wonderful mod on the Nexus. Originally when I conceived the character of Buren, a once powerful man who has since lost his former strength, I needed some way to make him usable. When I ran across the exoskeleton, I knew it was perfect.


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